Like any other
by lethian
Summary: Fenris story - about freedom, revenge and redemption, after Hawke sells him to Danarius. AU.
1. Awakening

**Disclaimer:** everything is owned by Bioware.  
**Warning:** this story is AU, and rated M for a reason. There is no saints and no heroes, only people.

I will update the story, once my precious editor - coldwetn0se, would approve of the new chapters. And of course, it's dedicated to her, as without her help none of my stories would probably see the light.

* * *

**Part I**

**Awakening**

_Song: "Hopeless" by Breaking Benjamin._

* * *

Emerging from the darkness of oblivion, the first thing he feels is overwhelming pain. It's all he knows for a moment, the ropes of boiling agony coursing through his body, setting every inch in flames. Seeking for any relief, he tries to breathe, to cool his insides, but the air is scorching too. Struggling in the throbbing snares of this existence, he groans, wishing only for everything to end. He doesn't remember how long he's been unconscious, but now he wants to sink back into nothingness.

**—**

Voices break through the fog of his torment, speaking about... him?

"Uh, what did you do to him? He looks like he's about to die any minute." A female, she sounds disgusted? He must look as bad as he feels.

"Don't you worry, my _dear._ My little wolf is stronger than he seems. Right, Fenris?"

Fenris, yes. That's his name. He remembers it now. He also remembers _this_ voice, the voice of his nightmares. His Master. Danarius. Could he ever forget it?

"Welcome home, my pet. I have tried to make your long awaited arrival appropriate. I hope you will appreciate my efforts." Danarius stops for a moment, as if waiting for his reaction, and memories flood Fenris' mind. Kirkwall, Hawke, Hanged Man, his sister, Danarius, a ship, Minrathous, yes.

He wants to retch.

"Now Fenris, don't be difficult. How must a good slave answer to his Master?" Notes of indignation slip out of Danarius' voice, and Fenris feels the all too familiar hate and humiliation rising in his throat. A slave. A _thing_. Again.

"Fenris!"

He remembers this tone too well. Danarius is furious, and he knows what is to come.

"Yes, Master." He croaks without opening his eyes. His throat is raw and his voice sounds rasp... from screams? _This_ he doesn't remember. "I... I thank you for your efforts, Master."

"That's a good pet." His Master sounds pleased and Fenris can't help, but feel a shameful fit of relief. Maybe he won't be punished now.

"You've been such a nuisance over these years, Fenris. Such a trouble." Danarius finishes with an exaggerated sigh. Fenris squeezes his eyes, knowing that his hopes were in vain.

A female's voice interrupts his thoughts. "Doesn't look like much trouble to me."

Fenris tries to recall if he's heard it before, but no one comes to mind, and he remains still, trying to maintain his breath as even as possible. The pain slowly recedes, leaving his muscles sore and aching, except for several spots, which he can identify as magical burns from the feel of it.

Snorting, she continues - "Leave him be. I would like you to check the notes I've been working on. You can have your time with him later."

"Ah, but I have something in mind for... tonight. You will _not_ be disappointed, I assure you." The mirth in Danarius' voice is undeniable, but Fenris is certain, that _he_ will have no reasons for joy. The silence that falls in the room after these words, is almost palpable.

"...Tonight?" Finally repeats the woman in a small voice. Fenris suddenly wants to see her face, it feels strangely important to him. But the moment - and with it, his urge - is gone.

Danarius chuckles, "Yes, tonight, so I've ordered to have him prepared."

He sounds entertained, but Fenris recognizes a note of irritation. In his years with Danarius he has learned to catch even a shade of emotion in his Master's voice. Like a _good_ slave. Feeling a new burst of hatred, he tries to bury the thoughts for the coming night, under this familiar sensation. It's better than to writhe in fear, waiting for yet another atrocity from the hands of his Master. And tonight Danarius won't be the sole executor, or so it seems . The sound of an opening door brings him to reality, giving a brief hope that he will be left alone for at least the next few hours, but the following words cause him to shudder.

"If you want to study him, while I read your research - you may. But do not linger gawking, if you want to hear my comments while I still have the time."

**—**

The door closes, but Fenris knows that he's still not alone in this chamber. He senses her eyes on him, yet she doesn't come to pinch or cut his body, nor uses her magic to ignite his markings. She _must_ be a magister, there is no way Danarius would speak like this with anyone of a lower status. Feeling anxious after a several minutes of total silence, Fenris finally dares to open his eyes. For a moment they just stare at each other, neither uttering a word or moving a limb. She looks vaguely familiar, but he cannot tell where he could have seen her before; perhaps one of those lecherous parties Danarius was so prone to. Her features are too sharp to be beautiful, with nose slightly too long, too high cheekbones and too thin lips. Her skin is pale and her black hair is smoothed back at neck's length, even further defining the angles of her face. And her eyes are... they seems to be dark, but he can't say it for certain, because there is that expression in them, that he cannot bear. Pity? Why would _she_ pity him? Because he's too pathetic of a toy for her to trifle with? Too broken to experiment? He basks in the irony, that a feeling he always hated to see directed at him, would be his saving grace against a magister. Swallowing hard, Fenris turns his head away, and in a moment the door slams behind her.

He absently wonders if she is his Mistress, or just his Master's new apprentice. Danarius is surely of age to be worried about heirs. Not like it would change much in his lot. She could only be worse than Hadriana, with even more power over him. Helplessly tugging at his shackles, Fenris resigns to his fate, waiting for the night to come.


	2. Wicked games

**—**

******Wicked games**

**Warning: **non-con? You decide.

* * *

Long shadows creep into the mansion, when the time for him to please his Master _again_, comes. His injuries were healed and his body was cleaned up; he didn't resist then, accepting these preparations like a rag doll. What was the point? All he'd accomplish would be another beating and more torture later. Enchanted shackles restrain his wrists and ankles, holding the lyrium markings at bay, a collar of strange tingling iron is tightened around his neck. Naked, Fenris is led by the two guards to a room he would never forget. Guided by the chains in their arms, he doesn't take his gaze from the floor, when they walk through the halls and passages. He keeps his eyes down, when the guards bind his manacles to a dull metal rings, screwed into the wall against the giant bed. He will not resist now, there is no point. Bowing his head, he hangs in the shackles, sprawled on the wall like a grotesque creature, steeling himself against the inevitable.  
He wants to sense nothing.

It feels like only minutes has passed, when he hears incoming steps, followed by a burst of the drunken laugh. His nerves taut in an instant like a string of the finest bow. Squeezing his eyes, Fenris tries to evade the moment of facing his Master a little longer. But when the door opens, suspense takes a hold over the shreds of self-control and his eyes involuntarily dash to the figures, outlined by the dim light, coming through the door frame. Of course Danarius is not alone, she stands beside him, leaning on his arm. She doesn't look surprised by that newest addition to the interior, but her gaze doesn't stay on Fenris, instead shifting to the bed. Nudging her inside the room, Danarius closes the door and Fenris almost feels his eager smile. Taking her by the elbows, Danarius leads her to stand before his slave. For a moment both of them just watching him in silence. Danarius' breathing becomes heavier the longer his eyes linger on the lines of Fenris' body, admiring his own lyrium handiwork. Slightly shivering from that sign of anticipation, she turns her head away.

Lifting a hand, Danarius rests his fingers on the back of her neck, slowly tracing them towards her collarbone. At the same time he cups her breast in another hand, pinching her nipple. She gasps from the pain, but Fenris, paralyzed by this new game, cannot tear his eyes away from his Master's fingers. They paint an intricate and so familiar patterns down her shoulders. Patterns, resembling his markings. When Fenris finally raises his eyes, a wicked and expectant smirk on Danarius' lips cause him to swallow in a surge of fear. Leaving her breast, Danarius leisurely unbuckles her tunic, until with a slight rustle the soft material glides down her curves to rest at their feet. Standing fully naked before Fenris, she meets his eyes with a defiant look. He must be deceived, imagining the notes of humiliation lurking in the background, but his mouth goes dry.  
Behind her Danarius disrobes himself, and runs his hands over her hips, palming her lower abdomen. Snaking his fingers into her slit, he gives her a few languid strokes, all the while looking at Fenris. Disgusted and aroused at the same time, Fenris turns away in shame, dreading the moment, when his Master would decide to include him into this game.

Apparently bored with prelude, Danarius seizes her hips and thrusts inside, watching his slave's reactions. She breathes out a pained groan, which startles Fenris. Instinctively, he glances at the woman's face, noticing her eyes are suddenly bright. Too bright. Nipping at her bottom lip, she refuses to look away, moving closer and closer with each thrust, until she's forced to brace herself against the wall to avoid falling onto him. With mere inches separating them, he feels her breath on his neck, he almost senses the heat of her body with his skin. There is not enough space between the two toys of Danarius, not enough air for both of them. Fenris sees a crinkle crossing the bridge of her nose, blood trailing down her chin, her eyes growing wet. His markings come alive in the tension around them. Danarius raises his hand and immediately Fenris can't breathe, the collar is too tight, it's burning into his flesh. He gasps and Danarius laughs, petting his cheek, and coming at the sight of his pet's desperate efforts to live.  
Asphyxiated, Fenris' mind slides into darkness.


	3. Moment of truth

**—**

**Moment of truth**

_Song: "You're going down" by Sick Puppies_

* * *

Fenris remembers little of what came after, or how he was dragged back to his chamber and healed from the consequences of Danarius' entertainment. Left alone for the next few days, he meagerly wonders at this sudden change. Trying to forget Kirkwall and everything that happened in that cursed tavern, he finds himself reliving the events of the recent night against his will. By then he knows that she is his Mistress, no better than Danarius, than the other magisters, and he should expect nothing but pain. The thought of his Master, an echo of his laugh bouncing in the back of his frayed mind, helps his conviction.  
So when she enters his cell, tightly closing the door behind, and steps before him with arms, crossed over her chest, Fenris bows his head. With his hands balled into fists, he slouches against the wall, waiting for the inevitable blow to fall. Not daring to meet her eye, he feels the bile rising in his throat at the note of how easily the slave's habits have returned.

At first, he doesn't understand her words, cannot make sense of them, as if she speaks some forgotten language. Jerking his head up, he tries to process the meaning one syllable by one.

"Do you want to be free, elf?" Her voice is merely a whisper, but it's booming in his head like a drum.

Getting no reaction, she tries again. "Elf... Fenris, do you _still_ want to be free?" The first notes of impatience slips in her tone. "Or have you already resigned to your fate as a lap dog for Danarius?"

This insult gets to him, and growling, he throws a hateful look in her direction. "What do you want, _witch_?"

He knows that for this insolence he will be whipped or tortured with magic, but nonetheless cannot stop his little revolt, tasting these words on his tongue with a bitter pleasure. Waiting for an immediate punishment, he's confused by the lack of her response, other than a small chuckle.

"Danarius have gotten almost everything ready to perform the ritual... of erasing your memories clean." Watching his reaction, she contentedly nods, when his eyes snaps shut and teeth bare in desperate attempt to break the shackles. Pausing for a moment, she takes a step forward and continues. "He wants to... repeat what he did three days ago. Before your rage is taken away. Your fury and hatred. He's not too happy about it. He'd like to properly break you, but you have proven to be... too dangerous in this state."

So, that's her plan? She came to mock and torment him in his last moments of identity, to enjoy his fall in the pit of despair, powerless to stop losing what he is. Stifling a groan, Fenris digs his nails deeper into his palms, trying to take emotions under control, but what does it matter? It's not like he gets better treatment for being stoic. They like to see him suffering, feeding off his pain. He just wants her to leave, to let him relish this remaining time while he is still _Fenris_. He's not surprised to hear his voice come out hoarse and dry, which should make this bitch happy.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I can break your chains." She stops, noticing his wild look, and quickly corrects herself -" Well, not break but make the iron brittle, for a moment." She abruptly brings her face close to his, making him instinctively flinch, and whispers, emphasizing every word. "All you'll need to do - is to pull hard when I nod. I know what your markings _can_ do. I know what _you_ can do. _Will_ you do it?"

Suddenly aware that they are both holding their breath, Fenris wills himself to slowly exhale, feeling perfectly numb in the after-effect of this proposal. What's her game, a trap to test the boundaries of his defiance, to lure him into committing... what? It's not a secret, that he would give anything to kill his Master, then what - enjoy his punishment?

Gritting his teeth, he takes a several deep breaths to stop the mad rush of his heart.

"What is this trick?"

"No, no tricks, Fenris. You are the only one in this house, with power enough to kill him." She doesn't even blink, trying to put more weight into her words. "This is your chance, will you take it? Would you trust me, or will you lose yourself... for a second time?"

Would he? What are his options - docility or death? Once he told to Abomination, that there were things worse, than slavery. He is not so certain anymore. Will he ever dream of freedom after the ritual?

He dares.

"When?"

"The day after tomorrow. Or shall I say - the night?" Letting out a breathy chuckle, she steps back with almost tangible relief, written on her face. "Do not fail me, elf. Both of us will hang."

Slowly nodding in confirmation, Fenris doesn't take his eyes away, searching for any signs of foul play. She reaches her hand to pat him in reassurance, but evidently thinks better of it, noting his scowl. Straightening up, she gives him a wry smile and leaves without further words.

**—**

This day and the next come and go in a haze. Afraid to believe that their conversation really happened, that he'd have a chance, Fenris finds no rest. He falls into pacing, recounting all possible traps in her plan, recalling all the games that Hadriana and Danarius had played on him. Even Hawke, luring him with the false hope of freedom. Or his treacherous bitch of a sister. They are all the same, these _mages_, but does he really have a choice, other than to put his trust in yet another mage? He can't lull himself with illusions of any future in the hands of Danarius, not any longer. He'll _have_ to take a chance. The slumber of defeat is over with her words.

Willing himself to relax, to stay still, he is waiting.

Being prepared again, he doesn't resist, expressing nothing but obedience. Totally compliant, he follows short commands, when the guards lead him back in Danarius' bedroom and tie his limbs to the rings.

The night cannot come too soon.

He listens to approaching voices, _their_ voices. Feeling the rush of adrenaline, Fenris takes a deep breath, trying to get his nerves under control. He must remain calm.

The door opens. Not soon enough.

When they come before him, he doesn't look at Danarius. When Danarius gropes and strips her, he doesn't react to his Master's activities in the slightest. Danarius is on a periphery of his vision. Her face, a tilt of her head is his world. He is ready.

When she nods, closing her eyes in concentration, he feels an almost visible ripple of air, and instantly a hot wave of magic washes over him, searing his markings. Sharply yanking his arms, he hears a tiny clank and his manacles hang in the rings, snapped in half. Raising his head in alarm, Danarius starts to back away, a realization is dawning on his face. But Fenris is faster.

She drops to her knees, leaving his Master's chest exposed. Open to him. White-blue, lights up the room.

"You. Are. No longer. My Master!" Growls Fenris through clenched teeth, staring into the bulged eyes of his _former_ Master, and the tips of his fingers connects with his palm inside Danarius' chest. Short yelps ring in the air, and he feels a hot liquid streaming down his arm. Slowly withdrawing his hand, he does not dare to believe, not yet; but the body - the _body_, not his Master, collapses to his feet with a thud.  
It is over. Danarius is dead.


	4. Escape

**—**

**Escape**

_Song: "Lucifer's Angel" by The Rasmus_

* * *

Staring at what was his Master just minutes ago, now lying broken on the floor, Fenris is afraid to blink. Almost convinced that the picture before him will vanish the second he looks away, and he will find himself back in his chamber, thrashing in yet another torture. His vision narrows, eyeing that crumpled heap of flesh, his whole life was a trip to this moment, and now it is no more. Is it possible to live without looking over his shoulder in search of hunters, without waiting, without Danarius there, somewhere?

A subtle motion nearby snaps his mind back, sounds and scents of reality flood his senses, forcing him to gasp for air. Hearing slight steps behind, he turns on his heels, still wound up with the buzz of lyrium coursing under his skin, to find her going towards the second, smaller door. Determined to end it all, he closes the distance in one long stride, catching her by the forearm and whirling around to face him. Poising his bloodied hand above her chest, he tarries the final blow, when she lifts her palms in an universal sign of surrender, searching his eyes.

"Wait, Fenris, wait!"

Feeling his markings burn with the sensation of her fear, Fenris growls, phasing his hand. "I've heard these words before, mage!" and she almost shrieks - "Wait! You want to escape, you want revenge, I can help you!"

For a moment he stands frozen in this deadly stance, with only the heave of his chest indicating his living. A drop of blood falls down from his hand, making him shift his gaze. Dimming his markings, he nods. "Speak then."

"Your armor and the sword are in this room." She gestures to the small door. "I brought it here, in case... we were successful. You would need money to escape the Imperium, and you will have to get to the docks before morning". Even though her breathing calmed a bit, it is still too short to be even.

"But first we need to get rid of this." Pointing out to his collar, she tentatively reaches her hand, pleading. "Let me. Please."

Her tone is soothing, and it reminds him of one treating a dangerous, but wounded animal. Scowling at this notion, he nevertheless tilts his head to give her a better access to his neck, holding her by the arm and staying his fist above her beating heart. If he senses even a glimpse of her, taking the opportunity...

Hovering her hand over the gilded strap, she gives him a warning look. "It may not be pretty. Try not to scream... too loudly", and rectifies herself with a dark chuckle - "But then it wouldn't be surprising, considering _where_ we are."

A bitter note in her voice causes Fenris to look at her intently, suddenly alarming him that both of them are naked. Shifting in discomfort, he tries to cough and in this moment every thought in his head is washed away by the sharp pang of fire, gripping at his throat. He jolts, crying out for breath, but a heartbeat later the pain ends as abruptly as it began. Gingerly removing his collar, she takes a short step back, clutching it in her hands. With a disgusted look she throws the collar across the room and he almost believes her sincerity. Almost.

Carefully pulling out of his grasp, she opens the door behind them and disappears inside the dressing room. Keeping an eye out for her, he steps on the threshold to be within reach and watches her shuffle aside multiple garments. With satisfied huff she grabs a bundle of leather, which he recognizes as the pieces of his armor, then passes him breastplate and gauntlets. Straining with an effort, she extracts his greatsword from the corner behind some heavy evening dress, and again Fenris is reminded of their nudity. Awkwardly tucking the armor under his arm, he snatches the sword from her hands and resting it by the wall, begins to hastily dress, eager to cover his body with the layers of protection.  
Leaning on a vanity table, she openly eyes him, not even bothering to hide her appraisal. Irked with this brash staring, he points the tip of his sword at her, weighing it in his hand. Trying to stall his seeming intentions, she darts her eyes to his face, exclaiming:

"The money!"

Letting her go past him, Fenris watches her rummaging inside the desk drawers, until she finds a rather large pouch and tosses it to him. Instinctively catching it, he tucks the pouch under his belt and reluctantly straps the sword onto his back, eliciting a sigh of relief on her part.

Gesturing to the window frame, illuminated in a soft moonlight, she briefs him. "Now go through the window, reach the roof and take to the left. You shall get to the backyard; less guards there. I have deactivated the glyphs on that side, this should allow you to get through."

For a minute Fenris just stands with a wild look on his face, before taking a step in her direction.

"Why? Why are you doing this, witch?"

He wants to know which one of the selfish reasons compelled her to aid him. She is a magister, a snake ready to bite, never without second intentions, like all of them. He needs to know what is _her_ intentions, to be prepared to strike her down before he's forced to pay the price.

"A couple of reasons, only few of which is a concern of yours. Danarius is dead and you are free, that's all that should matter." She suddenly shoves him towards the window, avoiding his gaze.

"Now go!"

Opening the window, Fenris crouches on the windowsill, assessing the danger. Nobody is seen in the vicinity and patting on the outer wall, he looks at her for the last time, trying to find any traces of ill will. As if sensing something, she raises her head, looking back at him, and in a bright glow of the moon he sees that her eyes are the color of a stormy sea.

"Run away, Little Wolf."

Her lips are barely moving, and the whisper sounds oddly sad, but the too familiar name makes him scowl.

Averting his gaze, Fenris hoists himself up on the frame and his journey begins.


	5. Journey in time

**—**

**Part II**

**Journey in time**

**Warning:** another one bites the dust.

_Song: "In the end" by Linkin Park._

* * *

Days fly by, rocking on the crests of the ocean waves. Meanwhile, in the belly of the clumsy merchant's ship, Fenris dreams of his life.

**—**

_The past._

The pain of the ritual, markings too tender to touch, throbbing with every motion. Danarius' hands on his skin, fingers tugging his hair, the heat of his breath on Fenris' neck. The stench of Minrathous: that unforgettable mix of inevitability and decay, hanging over its streets and spires. Smells of Seheron's jungles, sun burning his nape, scent of campfire and echoes of laughter. The fall of his sword, coated in crimson up to the hilt and the sound of his ragged breath.

Shutting his eyes, Fenris wants to forget.

An eerie comfort of "his" mansion, singing of cicadas in the nightly courtyard. Warmth of the hearth and a taste of wine on his tongue, sound of steps, ascending the staircase. Laughs and noises of the Hanged Man, a heinous aftertaste of its ale and the sparkles in Isabela's eyes. Her nimble fingers languidly tracing his markings, a jingle of her earrings and her satisfied smile. Ah, Isabela.

The dwarf's voice, weaving another ridiculous tale, and a sound of witch's giggles. Heat of the fight alongside Aveline, the clank of her shield, connecting with some unlucky chest. Adrenalin, coursing through his veins. And lyrium, still burning under his skin, even when the battle ends, making that Abomination's prattle all the more irritating. Scent of incense and flickering of the candles before the giant golden statue, a calm voice trying to guide him towards the light, which he cannot see.

Hawke, the universe in herself, drawing everyone beside her into the whirlpool of her life. A force of nature, and the nature binds to her will. Lightning in her smile, and the fire in her eyes. Her laugh and her rage and her fervor.

Fenris doesn't want to forget.

A creak of the wooden flooring, pregnant silence of the normally noisy inn, strangled voice of a familiar stranger and a dawning of the horror. The Void in Hawke's piercing eyes draining all his strength, and he is cold, so cold and lonely among the hunters.

Fenris cannot forget.

**—**

_The present._

A distant noise shatters his reverie, and wrapping the stolen cloak around himself, Fenris rises to his feet. Peeking out of one of the few portholes, he's taken aback by an abrupt view of the looming statue above him. Despite his anticipation, the City of Chains crashes onto his disheveled senses too soon. Walking up on the deck, he pulls the hood of his cloak lower, silently watching as the ship docks in the harbor of Kirkwall. Suddenly unsure of his decision, he's not too surprised to find his hands slightly trembling. Is he ready? Unable to answer, he tries to steel his conviction, knowing that in his current state of mind, he would perish fast.

Jumping down the ramp, he muses on a possibility of going to the Hanged Man, to find Varric, to ask him questions, to look Isabela in the eyes, to understand - why. After a minute he brushes this thought away. He's not here to talk, to chuckle over a mug of ale on the tales being spun. He doesn't want their answers, or clumsy excuses to make themselves feel better. He did not come back to restore the ties, that once bound him to this city, as surely as the thick chain of its harbor. With tight pressed lips, Fenris strides in the direction of Hightown, willing himself to think on the path ahead.

Perhaps it's more of a curse than a blessing, but he finds himself grateful that his ship has docked in the early evening. Whatever comes, he won't have to wait for long. When the shadows chase the last remnants of sunset away, he quickly moves towards an all too familiar mansion. The time for doubts has passed.

It doesn't take him long to open the massive door, and with a grim smirk Fenris steps inside. Hawke, as usual, is too careless. Too confident of her status and power. Hearing the low rumble of her mabari and incoming steps on the upper floor, he stalks across the hall to the staircase. Catching a shadow hanging over the banister, he lifts his head to meet eyes with Hawke. She stands on the top of the stairs with the eyes wide open, a denial of his presence being replaced with a shocked realization of his intentions. A stifled gasp - "Fenris!" escapes her lips, while her hand darts behind her back in search of the staff.

Fenris' brands roar and he dips into the Fade.

**—**

_The future._

A lone dripping sound breaches the dead silence of the estate. Shifting his gaze down, Fenris finds that it's _his_ hand that is the source of this noise. He absently lifts it to his face, tracing a path across his lips. He knows this taste, its copper tinge has been the core of his life for as long, as he remembers, engraved into his soul along with lyrium. In the back of his mind he understands that he'll have to run, to leave this wretched city and the ashes of his trust behind. Instead he sinks down the wall, wincing from the burns and gashes, left on his body by magic, and takes a deep breath. His wounds are not so bad, as to severely hinder his movements, but what does it matter? He never thought of a life beyond Danarius, even after meeting Hawke. When he found himself back in Minrathous, he never thought of a life beyond Hawke.  
Empty on the inside and too tired of running, Fenris waits for the guards to come.


	6. Friends and good friends

**—**

**Friends and good friends**

* * *

Varric just woke up and was waiting for Norah to bring his usual breakfast, when Aveline charged into his room, not even bothering to knock.

Varric raised his hands in irritation. "Hey Red, I understand you've obviously got something important on your mind, but can it wait until a respectable dwarf finishes his breakfast?" The day was definitely going to be "good".

Aveline rubbed her forehead as if attempting to wipe away a problem, then slammed her hands on the table with a frown. Varric jumped in his chair. When Aveline was _this_ upset, it meant only one thing - trouble. At least he could be sure, that her ire wasn't directed at him. He was too discreet in his dealings for someone so blunt, as Aveline.

"It's Fenris!"

Varric's hand froze halfway to his mug. "Fenris what?" Suddenly he got a feeling, that he didn't want to hear her next words.

Wincing, Aveline made a noise in her throat, which suspiciously resembled a sob. Varric took a closer look, to find that her eyes were a bit red and swollen.

"He's in the city's prison. He's killed Anders and... Varric! He's killed Hawke, too!"

Varric discovered that his room had become surprisingly small, and the air was too heavy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to reprocess what he just heard from the Guard-Captain. Hawke is dead, was it even possible? No more of her crazy errands, winning her coins in a weekly Wicked Grace over the mugs of ale, no sorting out her too complicated life with friendly advice and a couple of bolts from Bianca? And Anders... As much as he considered Anders too hot-headed, and let's be honest - a bit crazy over his mages - Varric was rather fond of the healer. And now both of them were dead, killed by another one of his friends, the one he thought he would never see again? The one, who forced Varric to question his loyalty to Hawke, to feel some kind of revulsion whenever he saw Anders these days. The thought of whom made him feel like a piece of nug shit every time he looked in the mirror. How did that even happen? Fenris was... gone.

Trying to wrap all these thoughts in his head, he took a long sip of ale and nodded to Aveline, who already pulled herself back into Guard-Captain's mode.

"Start from the beginning, Red." Varric gently patted her forearm.

"He obviously came back and _don't_ ask me how! My guards found him in the morning, sitting in the pool of blood from Anders' body. Hawke was upstairs, same picture."

"His fist trick?" Aveline inclined her head and Varric felt a fit of nausea, picturing an unpleasant image in his mind. He always hated that trick of elf's.

"Yes, both of them. The door was open. The bodies were already cold and the blood dried up in part, so he had the time to run, if he wanted to. He didn't. Looks to me like he was waiting for the guards, Varric." She finished with a deep sigh.

Varric bided his time, thinking on the next words. Now, this part was unsettling. For a runner like Fenris to stay after brutally murdering the city's most famous person and her lover? Something there wasn't right, and he wanted to know, what changed the elf's nature.

"You know he had reason, Aveline." He started cautiously. "We both know. After what happened here... You wanted to charge her yourself."

Casting him a warning glance, Aveline retorted - "Still, he took the law in his hands and I..."

"And you would do nothing about Hawke. She sold him into slavery and was allowed to walk free, _Guard-Captain_." Taking another sip, Varric gave her a pointed look, but decided not to push further, ignoring her protesting cry. Shoving the thoughts of Hawke aside for now, he continued. "Anyway, what are you going to do with him, Aveline?"

"What can I do, Varric?" She helplessly spread her hands. "I can't hide it and I won't, even for him. The guards will talk and the city will demand his execution. She was the bloody Champion!"

For a while Varric seemed to be deep in thoughts, absentmindedly tapping on the table. Running out of time, Aveline took a gulp of water from the jug and was about to stand, considering their meeting to be over, when Varric spoke again:

"Let me talk to him, Red. Please." He saw the mix of determination and sorrow on Aveline's face, but he owed the elf at least that attempt.

For a moment she mulled over his request, before nodding in consent. "I think I can manage that. He was my friend too, Varric."

Varric reached for his coat, when she stopped him. "I left him with Donnic, and I just want to warn you - he's in no mood to talk, the last I checked."

He snorted. If he witnessed a crying Aveline and a chatty Fenris in one day, he would bet that the world was coming to its quick end. "Oh, you surprise me, messere! I wouldn't have thought!"

**—**

"So, what did he tell you? Anything we can use?" Aveline paced in her office, throwing impatient looks towards a pensive dwarf.

Varric scratched his head. "Well, he certainly wasn't about to let me write down the story of his life. But I'm going to try something. I think it might be his best chance, unless we're talking about breaking into the prison..." He paused, letting this thought to sink into her head.

Whirling on her heels, she jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. "No, not a chance! What?! What are you planning, dwarf?"

He held his hands up in denial. "No, nothing, Guard-Captain ma'am! Anyway, how much time do you think we have?"

"I'm afraid not much." She sighed, allowing his goading to slip. "A month, two at best. Doubt I can delay it any further."

"Well, then I need to get back. Until later, Aveline." Varric stood up, dismissing any following questions, and hurried out of the Keep.

Making haste to the Hanged Man, he tried not to think of Hawke's fate. He'd have time to grieve about her and Anders later. He lost two friends, but still had one to save.


	7. Debt in the family

**—**

**Debt in the family**

**Note:** Roman cognomens are somewhat complicated in regards to the gender.

_Song: "Time is running out" by Muse_

* * *

She was taking a bath to withstand the heat of noon, when Larinus announced, that a fellow magister Maevaris Tilani was waiting for her in the lounge on an urgent matter. For a minute she contemplated if the matter was worth forsaking the coolness of the fresh water, but then Maevaris wasn't one to pay her a weekly friendly visits. What could force Mae to leave the comfort of her villa at this time of the day and cross the whole city? Intrigued, she dismissed Larinus and putting light tunic over her shoulders, went in the direction of the lounge.

When she arrived, Maevaris was already served with a glass of summer wine. She summoned the most vivid smile to greet her guest.

"It is truly a pleasure to welcome you to my home, magister Tilani."

"The pleasure is mine, my lady." Maevaris returned the formality with a smile of her own. Then she leaned back in her chair in a relaxed pose, which didn't fool her even a bit. "Forgive me this violation of etiquette, but I fear I might have some rather important news for you."

Gesturing for the servant to fill her own glass, she made a mildly concerned face. "I'm sure you wouldn't bother to come here just to gossip, my dear Maevaris. You have my full attention, I assure you."

Taking a small gulp, her guest spoke in a casual tone, but if she was any judge, Maevaris was probing for her reaction.

"Do you remember Fenris, my lady? Your _former_... slave, if I'm correct?"

"Fenris?" Despite all efforts, her hand froze halfway to her glass. Easing her fingers to take the wine without spilling, she retorted with a note of indignation. "Do I remember the murderer of my husband? I find this question a bit strange if not inappropriate, magister Tilani."

"Yes, yes, you were _very_ lucky to stay alive, my lady." Reassured Maevaris with a knowing grin. However, failing to cause an expected response, she continued in a much more serious tone. "In any case, I'm not here to pry for your secrets or play social games, magister Cassia. You might be interested to hear, that your escaped slave is in trouble. _Considerable_ trouble."

If only for a moment,_ this_ strike had hit its target, shattering her mask of composure. Carefully placing her glass on the table, she stood up and went towards the window. Mindlessly observing various bushes of flowers and plants, blossoming in the garden, she took her time, trying to calm nerves without Maevaris taking note. It was not a question of _if_, it was a question of _how_.

Finally turning around, she said with an impenetrable face. "_In case_ I am interested, if only to bring him to justice, what matter of trouble are we talking about?"

"I have received a missive from one of my cousins this morning. Your elf was caught in Kirkwall and found guilty for murdering two citizens, one of whom was the city's Champion." Maevaris certainly enjoyed this pretentious exchange of civilities, but there was more. "He is to be executed... soon."

"_How_ soon?" She visibly started. Stupid, - she scolded herself, you fell into this trap like a clueless apprentice. She wasn't at her best since that night, when the elf fled.

Maevaris curved her lips in a thin smile, without a doubt noticing both twitch and dismay in her voice. "Three to six weeks, according to the information from my cousin. These Free Marches, you know, never precise."

How much did that cousin of her's know? Had the elf began to talk, and if yes - how much did he divulge? But in the light of this news it made little difference. She knew, that the time for games was over and she'd have to take chances. Besides, she already revealed way more than was safe, so there was little to lose. She needed the help of this magister, and she could only hope, that a genuine concern for the elf she had demonstrated, wouldn't bite her in the ass.

Gathering her wits, she spoke without taking her eyes away, and accentuating every word. "Magister Maevaris Tilani, I and the house of Cassius will be in your debt, if you would inform your cousin, that an execution must be delayed until my arrival. At _any_ cost. Your cousin will be richly rewarded in case of success, and you would have my full support in the Senate. I would ask for an express message with the birds."

Nodding, Maevaris was about to speak, but she hadn't finished. "I will be grateful, if you would tell me the name of your cousin in Kirkwall. I will... probably need his help."

Maevaris gave her a barely visible wink and rose to her feet. "I will take my leave to write a letter to Varric Tethras, a member of the Merchant's Guild of Kirkwall. Fare you well, my lady."

Going towards the door, she suddenly turned back, adding with a sympathetic look. "Hurry up, Valeria. Time is running out."

**—**

Left alone, she stood for a minute, thinking on everything she would have to do, and most importantly - _how_ to do it. Taking a deep breath to clear her mind, she rang a bell to summon Larinus. When he appeared, she already had a plan.

"Larinus, prepare my armor, twenty vials of lyrium, and get a daily supply of food and water for four people. Gather your own gear and choose the two best swordsmen among the guards. Take four of the strongest horses from the stables. You have three hours."

If he was surprised, he showed no signs of it, simply asking - "Anything else, Mistress?"

Stopping halfway to the upper floor, she turned around with annoyed expression. "Yes, I forgot. Send messages along the Imperial Highway to every post station in bird's reach, with an order to keep horses for us. Write a footnote for the keepers to spread my word further south, to Cumberland. Underline an appropriate compensation for their troubles. Use my seal."

He curtly nodded and was about to exit the lounge, when she added, frowning. "And send Marcus to me. I would have to pay a visit to the Argent Spire before we depart."


	8. Mad Ride

**—**

**Mad ride**

* * *

"Varric, I can't delay it much longer, you have to understand. The Chantry is on my heels, the nobility is at my throat. The only ones who keep their cool are the Templars, but only because Hawke was a pain in Meredith's ass." Aveline wearily shook her head. "I can promise a week, no more. The order for execution was signed six days ago. I already ran out of options, I'm sorry."

He winced, pleading with her once more, "But Aveline..."

"Varric, no! One week." She slapped on the table, indicating that their discussion was closed.

"I understand. Let's hope for a miracle then."

Waving goodbye, he headed for the Hanged Man. Despite his constant optimism, even he was getting desperate. Aveline's sturdiness and his coins were scarcely enough to calm half of the nobility, but as she said, it couldn't last forever. He would still try a prison break as his last resort, but that was made even more difficult, with Fenris moved to the Gallows.

Bloody Ancestors! If the elf ever had luck, he needed all of it now. The order was signed much sooner than Varric had anticipated. It would have to be truly a miracle at this point for Fenris' acquaintance to come in time, and for the elf - to keep his head. He had sent the message more than three weeks ago, and just last week received an answer from Maevaris. It would take close to a month by the sea from Minrathous, even if they sailed the same day as his cousin sent the letter. By then the elf could very well be dead. Suddenly he wanted to pray to the Ancestors, that despite all odds this gamble would pay off, for Fenris' sake and his own.

**—**

"Mistress, you need to sleep. The ship won't arrive in Kirkwall sooner than two days. You did all you could, though I wouldn't mind if the wind was a bit weaker." Larinus was desperately trying to keep his cloak against a sharp rush of wind.

He hasn't tried to hide his concern, she has seen it clear in his eyes and voice. He was right to a degree, but she was still too agitated after manipulating the local weather to help get their hired clipper to Kirkwall faster. The task was easier to accomplish on the open sea, than she expected. In preparation, she ingested entirely too much lyrium, to calm down now.

It was a mad ride. She chuckled, recalling that was how Larinus called their journey after a several days on the Highway. She didn't object, it made no difference, other than a fancy name for storytellers. If there will be any. They took fewer hours of sleep every night, and the rest was a gallop south. She had to pay the station keepers double price for their horses, because by the end of each daily march, the animals were falling dead as soon as she withdrew her magic. After a week they had to tie each other to their saddles, else they would fall under the hooves from exhaustion. When she had decided that they were advancing too slow, she cut their rest even further. By the time they had spotted the glittering dome of the Cumberland's College of Magi, she was wondering if her guards would rather run away at night, despite all their loyalty, than bear more orders from a madwoman. Not that it bothered her much, as they weren't attacked once. Apparently the small group of armed and armored riders proved to be less savory for the local thugs, than frequent caravans.

Both of her guards fell asleep the moment they came on board. She doubted that even a Qunari dreadnought spitting fire from all ports, would wake them up. Larinus has needed sleep too, but she would have to command him. Otherwise he wouldn't leave, unless she went too.

"Go rest. And I don't want to see you until the next morning." When he obediently bent his head, looking all but miserable, she softly added - "Thank you, Larinus."

The crinkle on his forehead smoothed away in familiar devotion, and he left her alone. He was right about the need of sleep, but he was also wrong about her ability to speed their journey. There was still more she could do. The wind won't keep up for more than a few hours, so she would have to make sure, that it will stay strong until Kirkwall. She strode to the wheel.

"Wake me up in three hours." She asked the captain, who shot her a wary look. Upon receiving a confirmation, she finally went to her cabin.

**—**

Varric was filling the columns for the monthly Merchant's Guild meeting, when a loud and insistent knock on the door tore him away from the papers.

"Come in!"

The door opened and an unfamiliar woman entered his room. If he had to bet, he'd say from the sight of the deep shadows around her eyes and overall haggard appearance, that she was lacking of a good meal and sleep, for some time. Which was clearly impossible, judging by the quality of her armor.

"Varric Tethras?" She went towards him with grim determination, written on her face.

"Yes, serah...?" Raising his eyebrow, he gave her a curious look.

"Valeria of house Cassius from Minrathous. Your cousin, Maevaris Tilani, should have sent you a message of my arrival. I hope it's reached your hands?" Her accent was similar to Fenris', but... how?

Witnessing his obvious surprise, she scowled. "You didn..."

"No, no! Of course I've received the letter, serah. I just didn't expect you to come so soon, that's all!"

Hurriedly clearing the table, Varric pointed her to a chair. "Please, take a seat, so we can talk. You seem a bit tired from the trip."

She nervously gripped the pommel of the short sword strapped to her belt, and shook her head, rejecting his hospitality. "I'm sorry, messere Tethras, but I have no strength or patience for platitudes. Is _he_... still alive?"

Her state wasn't too appealing for a rational conversation, so Varric hastily reassured her. "Yes, yes he is. Of course. We delayed the execution, but now..."

"Tell me who to speak with. The right persons." She interrupted in irritation.

Tevinters. Varric started to suspect, that he was right about national sports in the Imperium. He recalled suggesting that Fenris must have won a trophy for moping. And if her petulance was any indication, the elf would have had some fierce competition for 'Best Scowl'.

He took a quill to keep his hands busy. "Ah yes, the _right_ persons. Obviously it'll have to be the Guard-Captain Aveline Hendyr, and... Can I ask you a question, serah?" She nodded and he continued, - "I suspect you're a mage?"

"Correct. I am a magister of the Tevinter Imperium." She hesitated for a moment. "I assume you want to tell me, _that_ is where we run into problems?"

Varric reluctantly agreed. "You could say that. The second person we'll have to speak with - is Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. And I'm not sure she would be prone to listen to you."

"Isn't the Templars job - is to confine your mages? I don't remember Fenris being one." She was confused and he couldn't blame her for that.

"Well, yes, but things in Kirkwall are somewhat different." He sighed, recalling the events of the recent days. "Us, delaying the execution, made the situation rather tense. Meredith insisted on moving him to the Gallows, as the more secure place. With Hawke's death, there is close to nobody to oppose her demands."

Frowning, she chewed on her bottom lip with indecision, then shrugged. "I am acting on behalf of the Imperial Archon, and I have all the official papers to confirm this status. Your Knight-Commander will find my proposal... more than interesting. At least in exchange for one person."

To say that Varric was intrigued, was an understatement. An offer that Meredith wouldn't resist, and from a magister, no less? He couldn't stand the suspense.

"And this offer is...?"

"I will speak of it with Knight-Commander and no one else, messere Tethras. Now, if you would take me to that Guard-Captain of yours?" She gestured towards the door.

"Was worth a try." Muttered Varric, leading the way.


	9. Speaking with the Captain

**—**

**Part III**

**Speaking with the Captain**

_Song: "Dance with the Devil" by Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

On their way to the Keep Varric was set on prying any possible information from and about her.

"So, a magister with a sword."

Brought back from her thoughts, she looked over him with annoyance. "What about it?"

"No, I was just wondering where is your staff. You know, mages and their sticks." He chuckled, further convinced that she was just as grumpy, as the elf.

She sighed. "It happens in Tevinter, partly on the move. In the end, staff is just an enchanted tool, which helps to connect to the Fade and spell focusing. And as any tool, it can be replaced with another enchanted tool."

"Like this." He reaffirmed, pointing out to her sword.

"Like this. Of course, a staff is better for channeling due to its size and form, but inconvenient when you ride a horse. It's _not_ a magic stick." She paused. "And if I _need_ a staff, I suspect I can always get one here."

Varric emphatically grunted. A magical battle in the Gallows certainly wasn't on his schedule. "Let's hope you won't."

**—**

They were ascending the Keep's broad stairway, when he asked again. "So, tell me serah, how did you and your guards get here so fast? If you were alone, I'd bet that Tevinters had found a way to just magick across the Thedas."

Snorting, she casted him a sideway glance. "Magic _and_ coin, messere Tethras, is an effective combination."

"Uh-uh, and more effective the more you want something, I take it." Muttered Varric under his nose.

But she refused to take a bait, so he had to use a direct approach. Stopping in front of the massive Keep's doors, he blocked the path.

"One question before we enter. What's the elf to you?"

She was trying to avoid his gaze, examining the joints of her gauntlets with a great intent. "He's... helped me, even if it wasn't fully consensual on his part. I am returning the favor, messere Tethras."

"Right, the favor. Good story." Varric wasn't convinced at all. "From what I know, you were his owner, so... What do you _intend_ to do with my friend, once we'll get him out?"

"A _friend_?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him an appraising look. "I must ask you a counter-question then. Who else was with Hawke, when she sold Fenris back to Danarius? I know she wasn't the only one accompanying him, when the bargain was made."

Now it was Varric's turn to look away. Waiting a minute, she shrugged, beckoning her servants. "I guess we are even." She stepped forward and Varric had to move aside. Just short of going in, she turned around. "I will take _whatever_ means necessary to get him out of Kirkwall alive."

"Oh, that was _very_ helpful, glad you clarified it!" Exclaimed Varric, following her to the Guard's barracks.

**—**

Varric knocked on the door, waiting for Aveline to answer.

"Enter!"

Motioning the magister to go first, he stopped her servants on the threshold and nodded to Aveline in greeting. During the formal introduction, the women eyed each other with caution, then the magister decided to get to the point. And the point was one of the most sinuous examples of officialese he's ever heard.

"Guard-Captain Aveline, I am relieved, that the members of the Kirkwall's Guard were successful in capturing such a dangerous criminal, as Fenris. However, to my deepest regrets I must inform you, that he had committed a mortal crime against the member of the Imperial Senate, named Danarius. Therefore, as a member of the Tevinter Imperium, he ought to be brought back for a trial and executed within Imperial borders, if that would be the will of the Imperial Court. Thereby I must humbly request the transfer of the abovementioned criminal under my custody."

Aveline's eyebrows were shooting higher the longer this pompous speech went on. Waiting a moment to make sure the magister had finished, she threw Varric an indignant glare. "_That's_ your help?"

He managed to squeeze out a pitiful smile. Was he wrong in his estimations of her reasons? Not like they had many choices to begin with, but what the elf said sounded a bit more promising, than this. If that magister's words rang true, he might have condemned Fenris to a fate no better than the one they've tried to save him from.

Oblivious, the magister added fuel to the fire with her next words. "I assure you Guard-Captain, that you may receive all necessary official papers whenever you request them."

Time to get this straight, thought Varric, before the situation becomes even more ridiculous. He exchanged meaningful looks with Aveline and lifted his hand to get magister's attention.

"Wait, wait right here. So what you are saying, is that we've asked for your help, spent a shit ton of coins and made fools of ourselves, just so you could behead him in the name of the Imperium? Great! I see it was a mistake to expect any sort of kindness to a slave from a magister."

She deflected, ignoring the first part of his rant. "Fenris is not a slave. He was freed by the Imperial Court in 9:37 Dragon under the request of his owner, named Valeria Cassia." She slightly bent forward. "And as a Liberati member of the Tevinter Imperium, he is under its common law."

Then a thin smile crossed her features. "And to answer your question... I believe that is the _official_ version."

She pronounced 'official' in a manner that made Varric certain, that she had something entirely different in mind. It also raised his level of intrigue, considerably. Cocking his head, he wordlessly urged Aveline to take the lead as the Captain of the Guard.

"Before we proceed," Nodding to him, started the red-head. "I'll ask you an informal question, serah, and I want a honest answer."

The magister looked her over, evaluating the possibilities. "Depends on the question, doesn't it? But go on."

Dropping formalities, Aveline pressed on. "All right, let's stop these games for a minute. Fenris is my friend and I will _not_ hand him over to you, unless you tell us what you really plan to do. And that is my final word."

Varric almost choked. Alert the Chantry! Donnic taught Aveline how to bluff. If only this magister knew...

"I wasn't aware you were another one of his _friends_." The magister raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but Aveline's impenetrable stance wasn't giving much room for maneuver. She was shifting her gaze between them, but saw no visible way to avoid the answer, conceding with a sigh. "Very well - as a sign of good will... I am to get Fenris safely out of Kirkwall, then..." She made a vague gesture. "Then he is free to do whatever he wants. I trust this should satisfy you, as his friend?"

Aveline still wasn't convinced, and Varric fully supported her. This matter was too important to settle right now. "And how can we be sure, that you're actually telling the truth and won't just chain and drag him back, once you step out of the city?"

"You can't. But if you want him to live and be free, you will have to take the risk. And I hope..." She paused, trying to suppress anger, brought on by that forced admission. "I hope that this will end peacefully. As diverting as all this is, I hardly came here for a social call with Kirkwall's leading authorities. And I am less than inclined to leave empty-handed."

Finishing with this veiled threat, she stepped back, leaving the decision to Aveline. Even if she hedged her features, it wouldn't fool Varric a bit. He knew that she was waiting for the answer with baited breath. He was about to crack some joke just to ease the tension, when Aveline gestured towards the door.

"Very well, magister Cassia. We'll have to speak with Knight-Commander Meredith to get the final approval on this transfer."


	10. Mages and Templars

**—**

**Mages and Templars**

* * *

Thankfully, Cullen was in the Gallows courtyard, so Aveline went to him to bring their request. The rest of them stayed in the middle of the grounds, observing an oppressive entourage of the former Tevinter prison. The magister appeared to be a little jumpy, and her guards were throwing wary glances towards the Templars.

"Almost feels like home, eh?" Varric pointed to the giant building.

He was unsure how she would react to his joke, but she simply snorted. "I don't usually visit prisons, messere Tethras. But yes, the architecture does resemble some of the Tevinter buildings. Just as your Keep."

"You can't say you were surprised, considering Kirkwall's history."

She briefly looked around. "I wasn't. But the proximity of your Templars is... disconcerting."

Though her sudden timidity was a refreshing deviation, it would do no good for them in the forthcoming negotiations. He made an attempt to boost her confidence. "You should be under Tevinter law. Nothing to worry about!"

"I sure hope so..." She mumbled under her breath, eyeing Aveline, who was returning alongside Cullen.

Closing the distance, Aveline introduced them to each other:

"Knight-Captain Cullen, meet serah Valeria Cassia, representative to the Archon. Serah Valeria, this is Knight-Captain Cullen. He will take us to the Knight-Commander, if she agrees to this meeting."

The magister met Cullen's hard look with a mannered smile. It seemed that his encouragement worked, and she was back to her usual self. Even if it meant being a pretentious ass. That's what they needed right now. He didn't know many mages, who would carry themselves in the midst of the Templars, like they were at a ball. Hawke was one, - he sighed to himself, pushing these thoughts aside once again. After a moment of scrutiny, Cullen interrupted his thoughts.

"A magister I take it? What would bring a Tevinter _mage_ to the Gallows and incite her to ask for an audience with the Knight-Commander of _Templars_?"

Squaring her shoulders, she spoke in a solemn tone. "As the voice of the Archon and legate of the Tevinter Imperium, I have a proposal to your Knight-Commander." She paused, studying his Templar's regalia with barely concealed antipathy. "And I would be grateful, if we remain within diplomatic borders for the duration of my stay in Kirkwall."

"And your proposal is... what?" Inquired Cullen.

"It is a beneficial offer to your Knight-Commander, in exchange for a... favor. Favor regarding one of the prisoners, who happens to be a member of the Imperium. _Not_ a mage."

Cullen frowned, rubbing his forehead in hesitation. "An offer from a magister? That's quite bold, serah. And I think I know who you're talking about." In the end he sighed. "Very well. Wait here while I speak with the Knight-Commander."

With Cullen leaving they had nothing to do, but wait. Even though Varric tried, none of the Tevinters were eager to talk. Her servants just gave him a blank look, while she was overly busy with checking and fixing the straps on her armor. Aveline looked anxious as well. Failing to extract anything out of their mouths, but non-committal grunts, he resigned to silence.

After a while, Cullen returned and waved them forward.

"Knight-Commander Meredith will meet you in the Templar's Hall. Please, leave your guards here and follow me."

The magister had told her men a few words in Tevene, and joined Knight-Captain. Being escorted by the two Templars, their small group proceeded to the Templar's Hall. Just short of entering the building the magister has stopped them.

"Knight-Captain Cullen, I would request this meeting to be private, with the exception of you, Knight-Commander, Guard-Captain and myself. No one else. The matter is rather... delicate and I wouldn't want any rumors spreading around."

Cocking his eyebrow in concern, Cullen nevertheless nodded and motioned to the Templars and Varric to stay, leading the rest inside.

**—**

Varric huffed in frustration. Coming so close, and left in the dark! At this moment he was inclined to agree with Fenris in his opinion on the magisters. He obviously gave the elf too little credit. If Fenris was broody, at least he was direct, unlike these slimy Tevinters with their secrets. He wondered if he could lure the details from Aveline, but thought it highly unlikely. He would have to use his Templar contacts.

He was waiting for almost an hour, when they finally emerged from the building. He hurried to them in time to overhear Cullen:

"He will be brought to you in the courtyard, as well as his equipment. Please, wait there, serah." With those words he turned around, intending to go back to Meredith's office.

The magister touched his forearm to halt. "I would appreciate, if you provide him with some sort of cloak. I believe it is our mutual desire to avoid revealing his identity to the common folk."

Cullen agreed to her request, and the three of them headed for the courtyard.

"So what, you've made it? The elf is free?" Varric couldn't hold back any longer.

The magister chortled, though it sounded more nervous, than anything. "Indeed, my curious friend. As I said, the offer was too interesting for Meredith to refuse. She is a leader, even if a zealot. And Fenris hasn't shown many signs of affection towards mages before, which certainly helped our cause."

Aveline chuckled. "An interesting offer, is putting it mildly. Hopefully now, this nonsense will end." She abruptly stopped, reminded of Varric's presence, and changed the direction of her musings. "We'll have to get him out of Kirkwall fast. Despite any legal claims, the citizens won't accept this outcome."

Varric threw his friend a wounded look, which she deflected without effort. No, he definitely wasn't getting any answers from her.

His resentment was interrupted by the magister. "My ship won't be ready until morning. We need some place to spend the night."

"Hanged Man." Automatically suggested Varric.

"Hanged Man." Repeated Aveline.

The magister just blinked in astonishment.

**—**

When they finally spotted a hooded lanky figure, led by the two Templars, Varric got the feeling that this meeting wouldn't go as smoothly, as they expected. The Templars stopped before the group, and their charge raised his head. They were greeted by two large green eyes. Hateful eyes. Varric felt lucky, that he wasn't their target, at least not yet. So, the Broody and the magister weren't the best friends after all. Now, if he could only prevent the elf from glowing and ripping the mage's heart out, he would consider this day a complete success.

Carefully stepping between Fenris and the magister, Varric wordlessly pointed to the pier. Looking down at his shackles, the elf bitterly chuckled to himself, but complied without making any sudden moves. Their group went to the ferry in thick silence. It didn't last for long though, and once they departed for the docks, all hell broke loose.


	11. Reunion

**—**

**Reunion**

_Song: "New divide" by Linkin Park_

* * *

"First thing first." Aveline strode to Fenris with firm steps, extracting a small key on the way. She briskly relieved him from the manacles, and he instantly fixed his eyes on the magister.

"_You_!"

She cringed, and Varric thought, that the elf's reaction wasn't exactly what she was hoping for.

"Yes, me! If you can't be grateful, at least be quiet until we get to safety."

Seemingly deaf to her words, he snarled. "So, you've realized your mistake and decided to drag me back? Learned his accursed ritual, or chose not to bother and simply strip my skin for the lyrium?"

She closed her eyes, slowly exhaling through clenched teeth. Varric couldn't believe that she was about to sob. The elf was certainly good at provoking emotions. But the moment of weakness was gone, when she spoke in an unnaturally leveled tone. "We will have time to discuss the matters of your release. For now you'll have to come with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, _magister_!" Fenris almost yelled, making her guards shift uneasily.

Aveline decided to step in before it got any worse. "Fenris please, come with us to the Hanged Man. I promise, we will _not _allow anyone to take you again!"

He scoffed, pointing his finger at her. "Just like you and Varric didn't allow Hawke?"

Now, that was a low blow. The magister gave Varric an inscrutable glance and he nervously coughed, but it didn't seem to affect Fenris in the slightest. The elf was so wound up, that it was a surprise he hadn't yet started to glow.

"That's not fair, Fenris! You know I wouldn't let her do that, if I was there! I am your friend!" Shouted Aveline, trying to hold back the tears. Varric sighed. Way to go, Elf - two crying women in a span of few minutes. He was definitely aiming for a record.

Lowering his eyes, Fenris murmured before turning away. "I don't know if I have any friends."

At least he looked ashamed, thought Varric. Not to say that it wasn't worth saving his hide, but he surely didn't have to be such an ass to Aveline. Towards this magister Varric still had his reservations. He watched as the elf hunched over the railing, taking deep breaths of a fresh salty air. None of them spoke for the rest of their trip. This looked as far from a happy reunion, as possible, if he wasn't counting ripped out insides. He was grateful it didn't come to that, Bianca was already twitchy.

When the ferry disembarked at the docks, the elf didn't object as they went towards Lowtown, trailing beside them with his eyes downcast.

**—**

Upon entering the Hanged Man, Aveline whispered to Varric. "I'm glad Isabela is away at the moment. It wouldn't end well, considering his state."

Unfortunately, her statement had been overheard by both the elf and the magister. While the woman seemed merely intrigued, a fierce scowl marred Fenris' features. He shuddered under his cloak, looking ill at ease, so Varric urged them upstairs. Falling in step with the magister, Varric uttered with a corner of his mouth, pointing at Fenris. "The exchange happened here."

She knitted her eyebrows, but didn't reply, instead ordering her guards to stay outside of Varric's room.

When four of them sat around the table, Varric requested Norah to bring ale and food for everyone, and clapped his hands.

"So messeres, we're free and safe for now. What's the next part of the plan, other than to get drunk?"

"I must return to the barracks, so just one pint for me." Muttered Aveline, still uncomfortable after the elf's accusations.

"As I mentioned, my ship needs resupply. There wasn't an opportunity when we departed, so it will take some time. " The magister rubbed her eyes, trying to chase away a fatigue. "Bath and sleep for me, I suppose."

"And you, Broody?"

"I... don't know." The elf was shifting his gaze between them, looking positively at a loss.

"Well, I guess bath and sleep works for you too. Doubt you had luxury apartments and service in the Gallows." Chuckled Varric, trying to improve Fenris' mood.

The elf grunted, but didn't comment, opting for a mug of ale. Getting on his feet, Varric went for the door.

"I'm going to get you rooms. And more ale. And arrange your baths. Don't get too drunk, elf. And don't try to kill this mage while I'm away."

Judging from the elf's almost ironic glance, the possibility of bloodshed wasn't immediate, so Varric waved him off and went downstairs. He was ordering Corff to prepare the loads of water in two rooms, when Aveline clapped on his shoulder.

"So what, you're off, Red?"

"Yes Varric, I'm already late to my duties."

Varric threw a worried look towards his room. "And what about those two? Didn't kill each other yet?"

"No, in fact they didn't even look at each other since you were gone." She sighed. "I'll be back in a morning. Take care of them until then."

Varric nodded in reassurance. "Don't worry, Aveline."

When he came back, the air was thick with a tension, and they were sitting at the opposite ends of the table. Fenris was deep in the mug with a signature scowl on his face, while she was twiddling with the bowl, showing no signs of appetite. Varric wasn't surprised, considering the quality of local food.

He coughed to draw their attention. "So, where's the corpse?"

"A... corpse?" Puzzled, she blankly looked at him. The elf, more familiar with his sense of humor, just snorted.

"Well yes, a corpse. You two are obviously mourning someone. Or something. Your modesty, serah? No? Maybe your cheerfulness, elf? Oh wait, you never had one. I guess you're brooding!"

Fenris retorted with annoyed expression. "I don't brood, Varric."

Varric chuckled at this expected reaction. In some aspects the elf didn't change a bit. "No? And I was going to say how I've missed it. So that was one of your marvelous smiles? I suppose more ale wouldn't hurt then. Norah!"

Fenris smirked, obviously recalling the same lighthearted conversations from their past. "You're a very funny dwarf."

"Nothing new here, Elf." Responded Varric, settling down between them.

**—**

The evening was relatively quiet, if you ignored the elf getting more and more drunk, and growing more and more gloomy with every passing hour. The magister excused herself long ago, when Norah announced that her bath was ready.

"So, tell me the whole story, elf." Prompted Varric, eager to dig at least some material for a future tale.

Fenris' answering glare was slightly unfocused, but no less caustic. "Tell you _what_ story, Varric? Tell you the story of yourself, standing beside Hawke downstairs?" The elf was slurring, which meant he was very drunk. An idea of buying him so much ale had its flaws, and Varric quietly moved Bianca closer. He could already tell, that this wasn't going anywhere pleasant. "Or the story of Danarius and his punishment for a recaptured slave? Or maybe how it felt to hold Hawke's beating heart in my hand?"

Wincing at this depiction, Varric raised his hands in attempt to stop the elf from working himself up. Fenris slowly stood, looking a bit unsteady on his feet.

"No more of your stories, dwarf." He snarled and wandered off.

Varric sighed, washing down his ale. "Suit yourself, serah."


	12. Parley

**—**

**Parley**

* * *

When next morning Varric knocked on Fenris' door, the elf's eyes were bloodshot and he was looking worse for the wear. Varric didn't miss an opportunity to taunt him with a wide grin, getting a murderous glare in return. Sometimes he wondered, if the elf was capable of more than a few expressions.

Going downstairs he almost stumbled into his Tevinter guest. It didn't look like she had much sleep and, if he was right, she just returned from venturing into the city. Interesting, thought Varric, what other business could she have in Kirkwall?

Greeting him with a thin smile, she didn't give him any chance to ask a questions. "Can you wake Fenris, messere Tethras? We would need to get aboard within three hours, but I don't think he..."

"No need." Interrupted the elf, descending the stairs. He wore his full armor, and his sword was strapped to his back. Oh, and he was in a foul mood again, judging from his scowl. At least it was good, that the Hanged Man was almost empty at that hour.

"I'm _not_ going with you, mage!" Growled Fenris, pointing the tip of his gauntleted finger at her. "I already told you that."

Folding her arms, the magister rebutted. "You will have to, if you want to leave this city intact. I've heard there is rumors of your release. You weren't exactly discreet on the ferry."

"Venhedis! I do not need your help to escape; I've been doing it for ten years." Now the elf was definitely seething, and the whole situation was getting out of hand rather quickly. "I don't want anything from you!"

Fed with his defiance, she threw her hands up in irritation. "All right, elf! I hope you are not as ignorant, as many of your kind. Can you read?"

And that was a mistake. Varric knew it the moment Fenris' markings flared and he snarled in rage. The elf was moving so fast, that her guards, who were standing by the entrance, only had a chance to blink, when he was already gripping her by the throat. He leaned in, almost touching their noses, and spoke in a deceptively mild tone:

"Yes, witch. I can read."

The only sound in the tavern, besides her desperate attempts to breathe, was the sound of drawing steel. Without taking her eyes from the elf, she halted her guards with a sign, and fumbling inside her pockets, pulled out a paper. She brought it to his face and he finally withdrew his gaze, taking the paper from her hand. In a moment he slowly backed off with wide eyes, his markings once again going dormant. Dropping to her knees, she clutched at her neck, coughing and gasping for air. If anything, the elf was confused. He was shifting his eyes from the paper to the magister and back to the paper with a half open mouth. Wiping his forehead as if in fever, he threw her another accusatory glance.

"Is this a trick? One more game of the magisters?"

"No." She choked out. "No games, Fenris. Look at the seal. You are free."

Varric didn't know why, but he suddenly wanted to help her. She looked helpless, here on the dirty floor, kneeling before an enraged elf, with the trails of blood between her fingers. Blighted fool cut her with his claws. He held his hands up, trying to appease the elf.

"Listen, Elf... Fenris. Did she actually cause you any harm? She hasn't even used magic to protect herself! Look, we need to get you out quick, why not take this offer? Nothing stops you from killing her later, you know."

The sullen look was his answer. Then Fenris jabbed his finger at her again. "You don't realize how tricky they can be. You don't understand to what lengths they would go in pursuit of their goals. You expect me to trust this snake, to get on _her_ ship and then... what? Be left at her mercy?"

Stifling a cough, she lifted her hand to stop his tirade. "If I wanted you dead, I would have just ignored Varric's message. If I wanted you captured, I would have just left you to Danarius. But very well - messere Tethras?" She turned her head towards the dwarf. "You seem to be a capable man. Can you point me out to a person, who happens to have magebane?"

Varric snorted. "I happen to have some myself, but... are you sure this is what you want?"

She gave him a faint smile. "I don't see a faster way to resolve this." She looked back at Fenris. "Would you believe in my intentions, if I use magebane for the duration of our trip? No magic."

"No." He objected. "You can use blood magic just as easily."

"I have to wonder how you survived as a slave..." Massaging her neck, she leaned back on the wall. "I'll make you another offer, in addition to magebane. I will have no weapons on myself until we arrive at Cumberland." She stumbled on the next words, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "And you... will stay in my cabin, armed. If you notice anything suspicious, you can always strike me down."

"No!" Shouted one of her guards by the name of Larinus, if Varric was correct. "No, you can't trust thi..."

She instantly cut him off. "I will do whatever is needed, Larinus. It's not up to debate." Then she paused, waiting for any more protests, and upon receiving none, continued. "So, do we have a deal, Fenris?"

Varric could bet, the elf was considering his options. After a few minutes of silence Fenris slowly nodded. "Yes, mage, we have a deal. Magebane, no weapons, and me watching you." Folding the paper, he put it into one of his pockets, adding. "And only if the captain of your ship confirms, that we are indeed going to Cumberland."

Rising to her feet, she wearily sighed. "Very well. Messere Tethras, would you bring the magebane, please. Let's not delay it any further."

Being in full agreement with her, Varric quickly fetched eight small flasks with concentrated mage's poison. She uncorked each one of them, sniffed and nodded, sealing again.

"That will do."

Fenris was watching her actions with a clear anticipation, but when she put the flasks away, scoffed. "So, you're not going to drink it?"

"I will, once you make sure that our destination will suffice you. From the captain."

He glared, but didn't reply, going behind one of the tables.

She rolled her eyes. "Why am I putting up to this, can someone tell me?"

"Good question, serah." Snorted Varric. All of this was definitely not what he expected, writing the message to Maevaris. But he could already see the eyes of his audience, when he would tell this story, and this thought warmed his heart.

"Guess I spent too much on this errand to back away now."

"Hey, it could've been worse. At least no one died." He grinned and when her lips curved up in a smirk, added. "And call me Varric, serah." The smirk became the most genuine smile. Maybe she wasn't that bad.

**—**

The rest of their preparations went smoothly. Valeria brought a heavy purse and handed it to Varric, earning his thanks. From the weight of it he could tell, that in the end he was left with a profit. She sent her servants away with some order and managed to fix her neck, while the elf wasn't watching. He was glowering in the corner, but that was nothing new. During their early meal he didn't speak once, which would make Varric uneasy, if he didn't know the elf better.

Joined by Aveline, in an hour they departed for the docks. Fenris was once again wrapped in his hooded cloak, concealing his markings, so they walked all the way without any problems. When they arrived at the ship, they were greeted by the captain, and Fenris didn't hesitate to grab him by the arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Cumberland, messere." Was the answer, which seemed to satisfy the surly elf. Turning to Valeria, he gave her a meaningful look.

"Yes yes, I remember." Grumbling, she retrieved one of the flasks, and took a gulp. "That's... ghastly." She coughed, teary-eyed and breathing heavily. Throwing Fenris a glance, that spoke volumes, she quickly went to the deck without any parting words. Looking at the elf, Varric thought that it was one of the rare moments, when Fenris seemed to be pleased.

"So, that's what makes you happy, Broody? Good thing I'm no mage." Muttered Varric under his breath, being granted another scowl from the elf.

The captain shouted to Fenris, that he must get on board, and Aveline swiftly hugged him, ignoring the familiar flinch. "Donnic is on patrol, but he wishes you the best of luck. Stay safe, Fenris. And remember, that you will always have friends here."

The elf's gaze became a bit warmer at the mention of her husband. "Give him my thanks, Aveline. And I... apologize, for being difficult."

Then it was Varric's turn to say goodbyes. "You know elf, I'm not good at these things. Just send me a message or two, wherever you go, deal? I'd hate to lose track of you."

Looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute, Fenris awkwardly nodded to them and went up the gangplank.

When the ship cast off, a gust of wind threw the hood from his head, tousling his silver hair. Varric suddenly felt something hot stuck in his throat. He wondered if he'd ever see this blasted elf again.


	13. Directions

**—**

**Part IV**

**Directions**

_Song: "Crawling in the dark" by Hoobastank_

* * *

When Fenris comes to her cabin, the first thing to draw his attention, is the bottles of what looks to be an Orlesian wine on the table. Next, is her paleness. Swinging a half-empty bottle, she pouts with a slightly disgusted look. "Helps to wash away the taste of that anti-magic shit. Not the best, but then Orlesians were never the best."

Briefly wondering if he would have to endure that smug sense of Imperial superiority for the whole trip, he points to her belt.

"Weapons."

"Ah yes. Straight to the point." Sighing, she throws the scabbard on the table, almost knocking down one of the bottles. A thin stiletto, not a sacrificial dagger, follows the fate of the sword. She confidently grins, spreading her hands. "Do you wish to frisk me as well? Like a fine _body_ guard should."

Her game is too apparent for someone, who spent most of his life near another magister. Attaching both weapons to his own belt, he stares her down with an impassive gaze.

"I do."

Her grin becomes lopsided and falters, making him inwardly chuckle at this blunt evidence of her presumption. Even so, she doesn't pull away, when he runs his hands over her body. Involuntarily, the images of that night invade his mind, images of her, himself and Danarius. Feeling the color creep into his cheeks, he's immensely glad that she wears light armor, instead of robes, grateful for the lack of skin contact. These unwanted memories make his task much harder. Then a pictures of his flesh in the power of magic and its wielders burst on the surface, leaving him dazed with this transition. Shaking his head to clear the mind, Fenris hastily finishes his inspection and walks to the table, taking several long drinks from the bottle. Sometimes wine is enough to wash away a vile taste of his past.

This time it helps, and calming down he extends his hand. "Magebane. Give it to me."

"Why?"

Apparently, what he has already downed, proves to be insufficient to induce the virtue of arguing with her. Narrowing his eyes, Fenris growls. "Give it to me, witch! I don't trust you not to try and trick me, replacing the liquid with this same wine. I will make sure you are taking it, myself."

"Fine." She moves a few steps to the bed, searching for the pouch with magebane in her belongings, and throws it to him with an irritated and somewhat sad look. "I didn't know you hate us _so_ much."

If she was hoping he wouldn't be fast enough to catch it, she ought to be disappointed. Scowling at her pranks, he stuffs the flasks in the pockets on his belt. "You don't know much, mage."

"Pfft, we shall see." She stubbornly discards his statement, going back to her pastime with the bottle. Looking around, he sees no signs of the mage's staff, so that must be all she had with her. Bold, even for a magister.

Successfully removing her fangs, he relaxes a little, and resting his sword by the table, sits down in an empty chair. Wordlessly, she invites him to join her for a drink. For a while they don't speak, each occupied in their thoughts.

"What have you offered to Meredith in exchange for my freedom?" Fenris' voice startles her reverie. Satisfied with this effect, he continues. "Varric told me. What was that?"

A lazy and wide smirk appears on her face. "A finely constructed lie. The papers were vague and my persuasion skills - good. "

He sneers. "Hmph. A lie. How unexpected, coming from a magister."

Some untamed emotion flashes in her eyes and the smile fades. "I did what was necessary. She will find out soon enough, but by then we will be long gone."

"Ah, a necessity. An everlasting motto of the magisters. Why am I not surprised?" He lifts a bottle in a mocking salute.

"Would you rather die?" She retorts with a hint of hurt in her voice.

"Perhaps I would, rather than be in debt to another mage."

This answer leaves her speechless and staring at him for a while.

Seemingly having lost taste for a wine, she retreats to the bed, leaving Fenris to his drinking. Tossing a blanket in his direction, she lays down and a silence descends upon them once again. Even without looking, he knows from her heavy breathing and constant shifting, that she suffers from the poison. He should feel some sympathy, maybe guilt, but the thought of her being stripped of powers, harmless, unable to control him, is too comforting to reconsider the terms.

As time passes, he listens to her struggles, mindlessly watching the sun beams growing longer on the floor. Somebody comes and knocks, calling her, but she sends him away, not bothering or unable to get up from the bed. Fenris doesn't mind, not wanting to break this state of numbness. Wine proves to be rather strong, and after a while he finds himself slipping into a restless slumber.

**—**

He doesn't remember the content of his dreams, nor is he eager to relive the emotions they stir, but when he jolts awake, his markings are stinging. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he wipes the beads of sweat, thankful for the night, which hides the evidence of his condition. Pale moonlight is not enough to banish the shadows from his corner, and he welcomes the darkness - his old companion, that chased away the remnants of so many nightmares in his life.

She sits by the table, facing him. Fairly visible in the glow of the moon and what seems to be perfectly drunk, she cheers him with a glass. She did nothing while he was sleeping, and that is confusing. Vexed by the nightmare, which prevented him from spotting her movements, Fenris scowls, reaching for another bottle. Taking a swig, he concentrates on slowly abating his markings. Wine helps with them too.

Examining the state of her bottle, she suddenly asks. "Where are you going to go? After Cumberland I mean."

Taken by surprise, he cannot hold the words, escaping his mouth. "I... don't know."

"So, where would you _want_ to go?"

Growing even more irritated not only with her presence, but scrutiny as well, he extracts the flask, shoving it in her hands. "Drink."

She grunts, but downs the poison without objecting. With uneven breath, she washes away the remains of its taste with another drink of wine, and cringes in disgust. "I'd bet you relish these moments."

He chuckles, but doesn't grant her the answer. It's too obvious.

"Anyway." She slurs, pointing the finger at him. "We digress."

"I've... never thought on this." Wine makes him contemplate on her question. "All I knew is how to run. Even when I stopped in Kirkwall, it was just a respite. I always knew Danarius would come for me, even if I tried to deny it. I always knew I would have to run again."

"Well, you are free now. You can go anywhere, do anything you want." Watching her attempts to fill the glass without spilling the wine, he wonders how long she's been drinking and observing him caught in his dreams.

This is not the question he's ready to answer, not in this state, and not when he had so little time to think on his newfound freedom. He glares in the vain hope to deflect further questioning. "And what would you have me do? For now I'm just following you, as we agreed."

Chuckling, she leaves the bottle, leaning in to bring her face closely to his. "Oh, so maybe you intend to trail after me? Not that I mind, but then you would have to be more pliant." She gives him that arrogant, confident, _magister's_ smile, which makes his blood boil. "A good start would be to stop dwelling on your past, caught in the memories of subservience and abuse, like a do..."

The metal of his gauntlet connects with her cheek, and the sound of the slap is thundering in the abrupt silence. For a minute they stare at each other with wild eyes, then she slowly lifts her hand to touch a rapidly swelling jaw. Her motion awakens Fenris, reminding him how to breathe again. Stricken, he jumps on his feet and strides out of the room.

He can't see her now. He needs solitude, time to think, to wrap everything in his head.

Leaning on the railing, he wonders if he really is cursed to be in mages' debt and power for the rest of his life. Is it the bond of lyrium, carved into his flesh? Or is it the bond of his soul, twisted and molded by the whims of his former master? Would he ever be able to escape this invisible cage? The night provides no answers, and does nothing to ease the disquiet in his mind.

When he finally returns, she appears to be sleeping. Slowly exhaling, he feels a surge of relief at being left with only wine as his companion.


	14. Choice of words

**—**

**Choice of words**

* * *

Next day she doesn't speak and he doesn't prod. She sports a nasty bruise on her jaw. He grimaces every time he has to look at her. Contrary to his beliefs, he wishes that she were able to heal it, remove the evidence of his temper. Even then, he cannot risk allowing her magic to return. Not while they are confined in the belly of a ship on the high seas, with no way for him to escape.

Their interaction comes down to him, pointing out to the next portion of magebane, poured in the glass. And her, gesturing to the plates with food. New bottles replace empty ones with the help of her servant Larinus, who throws hateful looks towards Fenris. When Larinus attempts to say something, she stops him with a hard stare. Fenris wonders, if he was just the same with Danarius before fleeing on Seheron. It's not something he wants to dwell on. This thought makes him crave for wine, and dropping the sword on a spare chair, he sweeps up the nearest bottle.

She copes well with the poison effects, better than the day before. Observing her from the corner of his eye, Fenris muses if she's somewhat getting used to bearing it.

Taking wine with her to the bed, she stares at the ceiling, drinking straight from the bottle. Sitting by the table, he thinks of the previous night and drinks more. Their silence becomes weighty, and he asks himself when she would force him to lose control once again. Not yet though, maybe not today. Maybe not before they arrive at Cumberland.

**—**

Turning her last words in his head, he looks at their meaning from different angles. When did hatred made him unable to think of anything, but revenge? When had he become a shell, filled with rage? Was it the moment, when the last of the Fog Warriors fell to his feet, or the moment, when he crushed Hadriana's heart? Maybe it was the moment, when he thrust his fist into Danarius' chest? Or when he felt Hawke's blood on his hand? This hate feeds and smothers him at the same time. He doesn't remember how to live without it. He never knew how to live free.

"What is freedom?" He puts his thoughts to word, not sure if she knows or is willing to answer. Not sure if he wants to hear it.

Her voice takes a distant note, when she speaks after a long pause. "There is freedom and freedom, Fenris."

"You make no sense, witch." It was foolish of him to expect anything simple from her.

She snorts and continues, ignoring his insult. "One freedom - is being alone, with no ties to anything or anyone. With nothing to hold you back. Nothing to stop you. With nothing to wish for."

"How is desiring nothing a freedom?" Annoyed, he knits his eyebrows, questioning if there would ever be a day, when he wouldn't want to throttle her.

"When you want something, it forces you to act in the name of your desire, it makes you do things you wouldn't do otherwise." She takes another gulp and sighs. "Sometimes this freedom is also called loneliness. Perhaps they are the same..." Her voice trails off to a whisper, which hangs in the air.

Her words are too strange to comprehend and they just puzzle him more. It cannot be freedom, not the way she describes it, not this coveted thing that always escapes his grasp. But something inside urges him on, and against his better judgment, he asks. "And... another one?"

"Another one is a choice of chains that binds you. Duty. Friends. Love. In the end it is the choice, that sets you free."

Now, the chains he knows too well, but only a magister would somehow link them to freedom. It's contradictory in the very meaning, the witch is mocking him.

"So, is that my choice - desolation or chains? Is _that_ what you're trying to tell me?"

Chuckling at his ineptitude, she props herself up on her elbows, meeting his angry gaze. "Freedom _is_ a choice. The one you do willingly. This is what I'm trying to tell you. What would you choose, Fenris?"

He was right from the start, not wanting to ask her. All she have - is lies and tricks, and twisted morals, it's all any of them have. He refuses to accept her philosophy, it's suffocating. He needs air. He needs to be alone.

Cringing at this word, he gets up, wondering if voicing it would always bring forth this conversation and her choices.

"I need to go."

"Of course you do. Well, consider it my drunken revelations. Canticle of the magister!" Her laugh sounds bitter, when he slams the door on his way out.

**—**

Conflicted, Fenris avoids talking to her for the rest of their trip, coming close only when it's time for another portion of magebane. She doesn't resist and doesn't leave her cabin. Sometimes she speaks with Larinus, and he thinks about her relations with the slave. It shouldn't bother him. That she owns a slave - is what should, and it does. But the other part does too, and it's disturbing. No, the sooner he can get away from this mage, the better.

He spends his days in thoughts of the future, now that it's about to be open to him. Where would be a good place for him to go? He finds that it makes no difference as long, as it's not Tevinter. He would feel the same in Orlais or Antiva, or he could even stay in Cumberland. Seheron eventually comes to mind, and for a moment he ponders if he could go there now, as a free man. But no, _that_ guilt is too big. He would never be able to look at its forests without memories of the friends he had slaughtered.

He thinks on what he's capable of doing, besides mercenary jobs. Is it even possible for him to be anything else, than a killer? It's all he ever knew since awakening on that table after the ritual. His Master - no, his _former_ master! he corrects himself, had made sure, that his creation would be perfect at taking lives. Not that Fenris objects to killing things, but it shouldn't be the only way to live. And he's done it too many times to feel regrets for his victims, or remember their numerous faces. Faces other than the Fog Warriors. These he remembers, seeing each one of them in his dreams. They are his punishment. He remembers Hadriana, too. And Danarius. And Hawke. These are his reminder of the creature he came to be.

On the fourth day they dock in Cumberland.


	15. Unhinged

**—**

**Unhinged**

_Song: "Animal I have become" by Three Days Grace_

* * *

She invites him to share the evening in a tavern, and as she calls it, to celebrate their safe arrival. She says that if they are to part ways, why not make it pleasant, and Fenris grudgingly agrees. He can do that for her, to leave memories other than her riddles and his anger. Surprisingly, he finds himself more tolerant of her company, wondering if he should thank the magebane or their silence during the last few days. It cannot be anything else.

When he knocks on her door, she is alone and drinking. Both of these things are rather predictable by now. What isn't - is the change in her garments. She forgoes her armor in favor of some pretty revealing clothes, and his eye involuntarily glides over her shape. Slightly perplexed, he hopes it's just her desire to relax after a wearing trip. It should mean nothing to him, and he must not lower his guard around her. Forgetting this would be a mistake, which she wouldn't hesitate to use against him. Feeling a bit uncomfortable in his armor, Fenris shifts his gaze from her neckline to several bottles, lined up on the table. Strangely enough, their familiar form gives him some much needed footing.

She stares at him through the glass of wine with a devious smile. "I wonder if it's your vigilance or obstinacy."

Annoyed by her mention of his uneasiness, he retaliates with a jab of his own. "Maybe it's less flattering, than you fancied. What would you say about aversion?"

Even though she pretends to be unaffected, the smile disappears. "I would say that you are a bad liar."

Before he can answer to this brazen claim, she puts her glass away, casually shrugging. "Alas, it wasn't my intention to start a fight." She gestures to the table. "Look, finally the good stuff. Agreggio Pavalli."

Sighing in contentment, she moves a bottle to him. Fenris rests his sword by the wall and fills a second glass, nodding against his will in agreement with her tastes. It's been a long time since he savored that one, and even the memories of Danarius can't make it feel worse.

At first they drink in silence, and he has to remind himself not to look at her too intently. Perhaps it would be for the best, if he leaves after first bottle is finished. By the time the second bottle is uncorked, he nearly convinces himself, but then she asks. "So, have you decided where to go?"

"Not yet. For now, this place is as good as any other." Just as these words are being said, he recalls almost the same answer, provided to another woman years ago. A woman he thought he could respect. The analogy riles him up and the whole evening starts to become some warped reflection of the past.

Tilting her head, she squints, looking quite ready to propose something. Wishing to switch the subject from his obscure future, he prompts in return. "Why are you drinking so much? Isn't it dangerous for a _mage_? Dangerous for yourself and others around you."

Not that he expects anything better from a magister, but it's the only common topic that comes to his mind.

Noting his obvious taunt, she snorts, pointedly taking a gulp. "I don't. Not so much at least, but the wine helps to forget the magebane. And I'm hardly a mage right now, thanks to your zeal." She looks down her glass with sudden disgust. "You have no idea how it feels. It's like... like being a half-human, vulnerable, scared, lost!"

"So, what you're telling me - it's like being a slave? Maybe this would remind you, that you are still in possession of some." He cannot help the smirk, when his snark causes a flinch.

Slowly placing her glass on the table, she stretches her lips in a mirthless grin. "And you are the expert in these things, aren't you? How could I forget? Perhaps I should have asked _you_ to smooth my experience? Tell me then, oh powerless and persecuted victim of the magisters, how has it felt to be _under_ Danarius?"

She realizes that the storm is coming, when his eyes become narrow, and their color changes from green to near black as she continues. Furiously smashing his glass against the wall, Fenris snarls. "Shut up, bitch!"

He should have left long ago. He shouldn't have accepted her invitation to begin with. Sharply getting on his feet, he turns away to pick up his sword, when her words force him to stop dead in his tracks. They pierce and chill him to the bone.

"Tell me, how has it felt to be in his power? How has it felt to be incapable of rejecting his affections in the fear of worse? What it was, to await the pain? To be a _thing_ to toy with? Were you frightened or resigned? Perhaps we ca..."

While she talks, Fenris squeezes his eyes, clenching his fists tighter and tighter, drawing blood from his palms. After a bit his markings flare and his eyes snap open. Turning around in an instant, he growls, knocking down her chair and her with it on the floor.

Yelping in surprise, she starts to rise, when he grips her arms, pushing down. Trying to escape, she jerks and kicks underneath him. She manages to turn onto her stomach, and her fingers dig into the flooring in an attempts to crawl away. Barely noticing, Fenris feels nothing, but consuming rage. He wants her to shut up, to grasp what it really means to be a slave, to feel everything that was done to him, on her own unmarred skin. He grabs her by the neck, pinning her body with his weight. In their fight, the tips of his gauntlets tear her tunic apart, baring her back, and he becomes aware of his arousal. Again, like a curse, it reminds him of _that_ night, of her against him, of Danarius behind her, Danarius with half-lidded eyes, staring at him with lust. Danarius with his laughter. Danarius with sleek fingers on his body.

This foul memory and others, so similar, yet so diverse in the ways of his humiliation, suddenly wash over him like a bucket of cold water. His eyes go wide in the horror of realization, and with a breath caught in his throat, Fenris staggers back, away from her. Letting out a strangled sob, he brings shaking hands to his face, but in spite of this desperate effort, his eyes stays fixed on her. He feels paralyzed, staring at her half naked body, more evidence of what he is. The Abomination was right, he is a beast, an animal. A monster. He is just as vile, as the ones who created him.

Gathering up, she begins to get on her knees and at the same time a pained moan escapes his lips.  
He cannot be here any longer, cannot face her blame and abhorrence. The mere thought of looking her in the eye makes him physically ill. Blindly grabbing his sword, he moves backward until his hands find the lifesaving outlines of the doorframe. Rushing out of the door, Fenris stumbles down the stairs and by the time his body hits the tavern's door, he breaks into run.

**—**

He doesn't know the direction of his flight, nor does he see anything, but blurry shadows of buildings and rare people around him. His senses don't register any sounds, except for the drumming beat of his heart and the ragged hisses of his breathing. When he finally distinguishes the rough texture of cobblestones under his feet, he finds himself in some filthy district. Gusts of breeze are unable to take away the stench of his environs, and he finds it fitting. That's where creatures like him belong.

He wanders down the street, thinking on the irony of his freedom, and how it's no different from his life on the run. The destruction is in his blood, and running away is the only salvation from the insanity of his being. He is surrounded by the ghosts of his past, caught in a wicked circle. A circle of memories fueling his hate, and the outcomes of his hate feeding the memories. He nearly committed the same violation, that was performed on him time and again.

Walking into some thugs, he almost welcomes them. They want his coins and gear, and he wants their blood. Or perhaps he wants them to draw his blood, he can't tell for sure. A full moon gleams on the raising steel and he allows them to come close, standing motionlessly. Reflexes of his body however, proves to be too honed for uncertainty, and when the first hand touches his arm, he falls into a battle trance. Wraithlike state carries him from one figure to the next in the whirlwind of silver light. He smells the familiar scent hanging in the air, filling his nostrils, making his markings sing in the perfection of the fight. The buzz of the lyrium, swing of his blade and flesh tearing under his fingers, is the only real things left in his world. This simplicity of death is his purpose, his essence, this is what he was made for.

When the movements stills, he is the only one, left standing. His sword and hands are covered in sticky blood, and the ground is damp under his feet. Their broken bodies lie, scattered around, their glassy eyes look through him, knowingly. This post-mortem insight is his contribution to the endless cycle of life.

Fenris howls.


	16. Regrets

**—**

**Regrets**

_Song: "Fade away" by Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

He thinks of escaping the city, taking into account that his free life was fleeting. He expects to find himself hunted once again, but the hunters doesn't come. When he accidentally bumps into the guards, they pay him no more heed, than an elf with strange markings and a big sword. He feels baffled. To verify his suspicions, Fenris goes to a Magistrate, cursing all the way at his own recklessness, and asks for a mercenary job. He's granted with a few offers and no sign of recognition, and he swears in Tevene once again. She _should_ have reported him to the City Guard for what he tried to do. He cannot understand why she didn't, can't wrap his head over why he is allowed to walk free. She has left - he knows it, so she cannot set a trap for him herself, not yet. He wonders how long will it last, how much time is needed to reach Minrathous and send hunting squads after him. He decides that he ought to leave Cumberland within a month. Perhaps Orlais is his best bet, considering the strain between the Chantries and the residence of the Templar Order. Or maybe he should take Sebastian on his offer and head to Starkhaven.

For now, he elects to linger around the docks, ready to jump on the first ship if he spots the hunters. Sometimes he steals, other times he takes clandestine jobs, that require his skills. All the while he tries to determine the safest place, which wouldn't demand a constant need to conceal his appearance. He is too tired of cowering in shadows, like a rat.

One day, he unexpectedly walks into Isabela, as she is passing time in a tavern after docking in Cumberland. She is remorseful and lewdly enough, and Fenris is lonely and drunk enough to forgive her cowardice. He knows that her own hide would always be her first priority, but she makes him feel desired, and he wants to feel something, anything besides self-loathing. Even if that something is just lust. She invites him to share her room and her travels, and he thinks how appropriate this is, bearing in mind his circumstances. What better place to hide from the inevitable hunters, than out on the open sea? Fenris agrees, and she brings two bottles of Antivan brandy to celebrate their reunion. That night, she indulges his wants and for a bit makes him feel alive. The time when he was reluctant to use her affections, has long passed. He acknowledges that she uses him in return to satisfy her needs. And maybe Isabela is just as lonely and afraid inside, as he is, so they suit each other. She will never be his, and he will never be her's, but what they have is enough for both.

**—**

The dreams starts to plague him. A familiar scent, a couple of words or the sight of Tevinter garments is often enough to trigger the memories. Then even the security of Isabela's cabin cannot keep him from darting awake at night, trying to hold back the scream. She attempts to ease his pain, stroking his hair or bringing some strong swill, but it's not in her power to dash away the faces, standing before his eyes. In these moments Fenris leaves her and goes to the deck, excusing himself with a need of air. Knowing his habits well enough, she lets him be and by morning he returns, sometimes wet from mist or shivering from a fresh gale. Isabela is not the one to mend souls, so she does what she's good at, making his voice thick with need, drawing moans and strings of Tevinter curses from his lips in the haze of passion.

Once he asks what made her to come back with the relic, and she says among other things:

"If you seek forgiveness, regret is a good way to start."

Fenris ponders his failings. There are not that many, which are of his own making. The Fog Warriors is one of them. He regrets being the obedient guard dog at the heels of his master, unable to resist his command, even after tasting a life without leash. That was the moment, when he understood that the chains are in his mind, and not on the body.

Valeria is another one. He regrets wishing her to pay for what Danarius and Hadriana had done to him. He bemoans letting the past dictate his actions, entangling her in the memories of his ghosts.

But maybe his soul can still be saved, if he repents being a beast. Perhaps this sorrow could stop him from sliding into existence of a trapped bitter creature. The Fog Warriors are dead and he cannot beg them for forgiveness. She is not.

At first, he hides this growing thoughts behind daily activities on Isabela's ship. He tries to drown it in spirits. Despite his repulsion for a noisy crowd, he accompanies her every time they go ashore in some seaport. He hopes to forget it in Isabela's arms, eliciting her surprise and amused comments on his eagerness.

Nothing helps. Wearied of numerous efforts, he gives in.

**—**

He inquires Isabela if she can sail to Minrathous. She gives him a strange look and says that yes, if she has a good enough reason. He hasn't told her of anything besides an inexplicit rehearsal of his rescue, but she is no fool and must be suspicious of his motives. The one thing that Isabella cannot know - is his intentions, because he's not certain of them himself. Fenris can't tell, if he wants to ask her forgiveness, let her exact revenge, or to kill her himself, if her taunting was a scheme, meant to unleash the monster her kind may have created. All he knows is that he needs some sort of closure. This demand occupies all his thoughts.

He cannot provide her with reason, other than his desire to go there, but she says that she still owes him for the Hanged Man. If he wants to go back to the land of his nightmares, who is she to prevent him from doing stupid things. Smirking, he answers, that he always appreciated her sense of freedom.  
She set sails for the north.

The long way does nothing good to his resolve, and by the time they dock in Minrathous, he grows restless. He can see that Isabela is concerned, but she only asks if he needs her company. When he predictably rejects, she says that she would have to sail to Rialto in a week. She offers him a crooked grin, wishing the best of luck in whatever he intends to do. He wants to taste her lips one more time, in a sign of gratitude. However, not one for public affections, all he is capable of - is to force out some semblance of a smile, before turning away to face the tiger.

It doesn't take him long to reach his former master's mansion. He muses if she could have her own, but decides that this is the best place to start. He waits in the shadows of the stunted olive grove for darkness to fall, and when it comes, moves to the estate.


	17. Dangers of magic

**—**

**Part V**

**Dangers of magic**

**Note: **evidently, they speak in Tevene, that's why there is no Tevinter curses.

_Song: "Spellbound" by Lacuna Coil_

* * *

Using his markings, Fenris deactivates the nearest glyph, and climbs over the fence. Crouching under some branchy bush, he observes the number and disposition of the guards. There seem to be only two of them and both are exhausted from the heat. Sneaking up to the master's wing, he can't help but feel a slight tremor in his fingers, when he sees the window to Danarius' bedroom. It's unlit and the room looks to be empty, holding only memories within its walls. He wonders, if that wretched room could be sealed forever, along with its dark secrets.

A candle lights up in the study next to the bedroom, and there she is, illuminated by the soft halo. But the window is closed, and breaking through would alarm not only her, but likely the guards as well. He doesn't want to warn her prematurely, to give her time to react on his appearance, so he moves to the back entrance and, to his surprise, it's unguarded. The lock is simple and soon he finds himself inside the place, that would always give him the chills.

He stalks through the passages, noting that the mansion is strangely silent in comparison to what it used to be. There is no sign of the slaves doing late work, no barks of command from the courtyard and no steps of the household, running from one wing to the next with some errands. He tarries around the corner to the study, to discover that there is no guards before its door, as well. She is too careless, just as Hawke. Shuddering from this analogy, Fenris berates himself - he is not here to kill, not yet. Not until he knows what her goal is. Taking a deep breath, he crosses the hallway and silently opens the door.

She sits behind the desk, half-turned to the entrance, holding some letters in one hand, another one is occupied with a glass of wine. She looks almost the same if more healthy, or maybe it's only the candlelight, deceiving his perception. She doesn't turn, but sets a glass on the desk and speaks.

"So, have you come to finish what you've started?"

She doesn't look enraged, frightened or surprised from where he stands. In fact she seems... submitted? It must be a trap, - a warning rings in his head, and he tenses, trying to decipher every whisper and shadow around them. But unless his senses are lying to him, nobody else is nearby.

"No." His voice sounds rough from the pressure.

Now she turns to face him, all docility gone. "What then, grovel at my feet to avoid punishment? That would be a sight to behold."

It takes all his strength to not lash out . "It's not that. Don't even begin to go there..." Yet it doesn't prevent him from unwittingly stepping in her direction, before he recognizes his intent.

He cannot get how she dissipates his layers of control without much effort. This, in and of itself, is infuriating. Realizing that again he almost resorted to violence, Fenris lowers his gaze, taking a step back to dodge the expected magical blast. It doesn't come.

"Or what, you're going to rip my heart out? Or shove me on the floor and ravish me? You might prefer the chair, though. It could be less comfortable, but I believe we'll manage." Dropping a paper on the desk, she stands up and closes the distance, forcing him to stumble further back. Confused by the absence of magic in response to the danger of his movement, he feels more irritated with her jabs, than angry.

Holding his hand up in attempt to calm her ire, he tries to reason with her. "Stop goading me, mage! I came to talk, to apologize."

She sneers, resting a hand on her jutting hip. "Oh, how lovely. Forgive me if I do not shed a tear on your touching confession. You must have been truly desperate to come all this way _just_ to apologize. So I was right about groveling in the end? Would you kneel?"

In the next moment Fenris slams her into the wall before even acknowledging his actions. "Fuck you, witch! Just shut your blighted mouth!"

The mage is either doing it on purpose, or has a deathwish. He is practically assured, that everything from her is just a ruse. And the decision to come here was one of the worst he's ever made. He played right into her hands. What was he even thinking - to ask forgiveness from a magister? His mind must have been really dazed with the nightmares to persuade him into committing such a foolish act. But he wants to hear just one answer to the question that bugs him, before being done with this farce.

"Why haven't you used magic against me? There is no magebane. I could have killed you."

She deliberately glances over him with that haughty look of her's. "Magic would be too easy. You need a chance."

So, she wants a challenge? His lips instinctively curve in a predatory smirk and clasping his fingers around her neck, Fenris almost purrs in a gravelly voice. "A chance, is it?"

His tone is so contradictory to the threatening posture, that it sends shivers down her spine and he feels it. Looking way less confident, she tries to swallow, and her throat contracting under his palm, generates flaming prickles all over his body. Understanding that his will has started to betray him, Fenris wants her to use magic, to remind him that she is just the same, a _magister_. He needs her help to overcome this enchantment.

Slowly tightening his grasp, he murmurs. "Do it. Strike me, before I get rid of one more magister. Do it, witch!"

She lifts her hand and he has a moment to think that he's done it, broke her resilience. His markings come alive readying. But instead she gently brushes her fingers along the brands twining his neck, and this proves to be his undoing.


	18. Of solitude and touch

**—**

**Of solitude and touch**

**Warning: **we all knew it was coming. Smut, eventually.

* * *

Pressing himself against her, Fenris crashes his mouth onto her lips. He needs to taste, to smell her flavor, wants her fingers on his skin, this thirst for contact is blinding. He can't wait to undo her clothes, it's too slow. He requires her essence to warm the coldness of his loneliness. She sets him ablaze, his markings hum and sing under her palms, enveloping his body with a jolts of burning pleasure. It's nothing like Isabela and he wants to feel more of it, all of it. Her tunic give away under his claws and in the back of his mind he thinks, that he might be hurting her, but it doesn't matter now, nothing but her flesh under his lips, under his tongue and teeth. He doesn't know how, but he helps her get rid of his armor. His sword already lies forgotten on the floor, his breastplate and jerkin join it shortly. He doesn't know when, but he finds himself naked, with his bare hands kneading her bottom and his rigid member pressing against her folds. He clutches at the last moment of sanity to groan:

"Why?"

"You don't have to be alone."

And her lips are on his neck, her fingers in his hair and her legs around his waist drives him home. He marks her, biting and licking her throat, nipping at her collarbone. He peppers her shoulders with kisses, trailing his mouth down to suck on her nipples. He interlaces their fingers and tongues, plunging inside even deeper. He listens to her hitches and cries, singing to his ears like a plea to heaven. He wants to merge with her, to become one. This immersion is his moment of eternity, her moans and gasps are her forgiveness, his strokes and thrusts are his remorse, and their fall is his redemption.

**—**

When his senses once again starts to perceive anything besides the two of them, his head feels dizzy, his limbs are shaking, and their mingled sweat is cooling on his skin. He hardly remembers who or what he is now, but he suddenly recalls what _she_ is.

What is this madness with this mage, the _magister,_ who makes him reluctant to ever let her go. With whom he loses himself so easily.

Resting her on the desk, he presses their foreheads together, trying to calm his skipping thoughts.

"What are you doing to me?" His voice sounds hoarse and the words are like thorns, as he pushes them through his parched throat.

Cupping his jaw, she tenderly says. "Making you forget."

This reminds him of the ritual, of Danarius, and he instantly becomes aware of their surroundings. The walls of this study starts to close on him like a cell. Stiffening, he takes a deep breath, trying to repel the grip of the past, grating on his mind. It doesn't help, the room's contents are silently taunting him with every familiar angle. Pulling away, he goes to the heap of their clothing. He needs to leave before he's lost.

She says nothing while he puts his armor on and doesn't move, when he straps the sword to his back. Not even looking at her, he knows that she understands what will come next. His decision almost visibly hangs in the air between them. But he cannot just leave her like that.

Squeezing his eyes, Fenris pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to explain. "I can't stay. Not here, not in this house. Too many memories. I... I can't be here."

Looking away, she manages to afford a sad smile. "You can always come back."

He sighs in frustration. Words were never his best asset and she cannot grasp everything he feels. His anger starts to bubble inside him, threatening to burst on the surface.

He makes one last attempt. "You don't realize what it means for me to be here. To recall the things that were done to me in this mansion, in this same room!"

She awaits in silence, until he stops to catch a breath, not offering any retort. Here, it's all said, there is nothing else for him to do.

When he turns away to take his leave, a desperate whisper reaches his ears. "You don't have to come here, Fenris. _We_ don't have to be here. Just... come. Whenever you can."

He stops, looking down at his trembling fingers. This stings more than any magic. He couldn't imagine that these last steps would be so hard to make. But this is too fast and too much. He cannot deal with his emotions, not now, and especially not in this wretched place. He needs to get away from her, to put distance between them. A space, that would clear his mind, let him think on what just happened.

Feeling his markings throb in unison with his frantic heartbeat, Fenris curtly nods and strides out of the room.


	19. Restless dreams across the sea

**—**

**Restless dreams across the sea**

_Song: "Leave out all the rest" by Linkin Park_

* * *

He doesn't want to go back to Isabela and listen to her obscene insinuations, but neither can he stay within this city. Its stench suffocates him, its sounds razor sharp, cuts on his worn out nerves, its spires and walls surround him like a never ending maze. The itching heat in his markings grows to a slow burn. Fenris staggers down the docks until he sees a guiding beacon of the Siren's Call prow. Climbing up the ramp, he asks her first mate for wine. He knows she has some to spare, she's been getting used to the taste with him around. Receiving a positive answer and wary look, he goes to the vacant cabin. He doesn't want to see her now, he can't tell her anything without lashing out, so he sits and drinks alone. He is grateful that she doesn't ask him, that she doesn't come and break his solitude and he is certainly glad, that she doesn't linger in Minrathous. He's had enough of this place for the time being. Half-conscious, he doesn't notice when they cast off to Rialto only two days after his return. With his state, Isabela hardly needs to hold to her previously announced schedule.

Fenris doesn't remember much of their way to Antiva. He counts his days in empty bottles, and at the first signs of a hangover, drowns it in more wine. With grim humor he thinks, that if they are to be raided, the fumes in his chamber would kill attackers before he'd have a chance to grab the sword. He lets out a laugh which sounds more like a bark, but the wine still helps. He requires this barrier of numbness before he could face the complication of his feelings.

**—**

By the time they dock in Rialto, Isabela's patience wears off.

She bangs the door open. "All right, I've had enough of this. How long are you going to wallow in self-pity?"

Convinced that his head will explode the next moment she speaks, he glares. "Leave me be, wench."

Sniffing the stale air, she rests her hands on her hips. "You stink. If you're going to drown your sorrows in a bottle, why don't I do us both a favor and just throw you overboard? Would be better than you, polluting my ship and consuming all the wine stocks."

"I'm in no mood for your prodding, Isabela. Why don't you go find some free dick to be happy with for a night, and leave me alone?" He tries to stand, but fails and sinks back in his chair. In a moment he's glad that his legs cannot hold him, because her fist connects with his face.

"Oh, you little skinny glowing piece of shit!"

Their brawl suddenly starts to entertain him and he smirks, tasting a blood on his lips. "Nice blow, pirate. Are you going to first beat me up and then throw me overboard? Or are you going to save your strength for actual lifting, and just drag me out of the room? Oh, and don't forget to hold your nose, while you're at it."

She snatches the bottle from his hand and throws it out of the window. "Listen, you long-eared bastard! You either pull your shit together and start being a man instead of a miserable excuse of a drunken piss, or I'll feed orichalcum down your throat until it pours out your ass."

Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Fenris cannot help but chuckle. "Really, Isabela? Orichalcum?! Too eager to get your dirty little fingers on me?"

"Eager to forget how pathetic men could be! Now, get your sorry elven hide out of here and go take a bath. And eat something, before these tight pants falls off your ass." She shouts on her way out.

"We shall see, wench." He grumbles out of sheer stubbornness, knowing that she's won.

**—**

Although, as Isabela said, he pulls his shit together, his soul finds no rest. Once again his sleep is disturbed, but now he dreams of her. It is a torture, and he wonders if he will ever catch a break, but he awakens with want instead of horror. He dreams of her lips, of her body molding under his fingers, he remembers her sighs and can almost feel her touch on his skin. His visions are so vivid, that he thinks she might step beside him, if only he could keep his hold, when he wakes. It never happens. In the back of his mind Fenris knows that he's found solace in her arms, in that moment when his world went blank. Knows, but refuses to admit even to himself.

Isabela's advances find him unmoved and he scowls more often, than smirks at her innuendos. She calls him a hypocritical coward, and all he can offer in return - is thick silence. But she is an easygoing lover with no traces of jealousy, which ironically makes his situation even more awkward. During their stop in Wycome he tells her, that he's not coming back to the ship. There isn't any scene and he certainly doesn't expect one, not from Isabela. Instead she just says that he's finally grown some balls, gives him a hard kiss and waves off. He wants to tell her that their time together was worth it, but then she isn't one for heartbreaks and he isn't made for goodbyes. So he just stands on the shore, watching the white sails of her beloved Siren's Call, leaving the harbor. He knows she will be fine on her own.

**—**

He stays in Wycome for a time, taking temporary and offhand mercenary jobs. People here are more prone to strange creatures, such as himself. Some even find him attractive, and abashed, he hastily puts an end to these approaches. He has no desire to involve himself with a new fling.

When he isn't busy with his sword, Fenris listens to the ocean waves and muses of his complicated situation. Despite several months having passed since their night, the memories of her still haunt him. She is what he loathed all his life, what he still resents, then why it's not enough to forget her? The Maker definitely has a strange sense of humor.

Without taking into account his inner conflict, there are more prosaic obstacles. He thinks of her position and tries to reassure himself time and again, that there is no future for them, for him by her side. Even assuming that he won't be executed for killing his master, her society would never accept their relationship. He could be nothing but a glorified body slave.

Then the night falls, and Fenris recalls her farewell smile, the way her voice got caught in her throat, when she begged him to return. And all valid reasons become shallow and unworthy of mentioning. Until the sun rises again.

For now, he resists, concentrating on his job. His skills proves to be too valuable for the head of the local mercenary guild, and just a half year later he is offered a good position within the guild's rankings. That standing would ensure his welfare, as long as there is things to kill and to guard, but this is not what he wants. As tempting as settling down can be, it would never truly satisfy him. The thirst for her touch is too big and no amount of distraction seems to quench it for long.

A day comes, when he cannot deny her any longer, when even that blasted mansion doesn't matter. He goes to the docks and asks for the first ship to Minrathous. He had made _his_ choice, if she would have him.


	20. Long way home

**—**

**Long way home**

* * *

In three weeks Fenris sets foot in Minrathous. It's been more than a year after their last meeting, although to him it feels like it were yesterday. He wonders if her offer still stands. Would she even remember him as anything else, than a sidestep adventure? Allegiances can change so fast in Tevinter, and vows are forgotten even faster, when a need arises. Only Minrathous is constant - almost a sentient symbol of power, fear and misery, twisting souls to its liking.

Pulling the hood of his cloak lower to shield himself, Fenris steps into its maw. No guide is needed, he could walk this path with his eyes closed.

Getting to her mansion, he decides to go through the main entrance. He doesn't want to sneak in on her, not this time. The guards eventually stop him, but when he calls her name, they tell him that she doesn't live here anymore. He asks if they know of her whereabouts, and they answer that they aren't Chantry brothers, to indulge suspicious vagabonds. There is no point to loiter here further, and ignoring the first jolts of fear, he tries to think rationally. What would be the best way to start his search? To inquire openly about a magister in Minrathous could attract unwanted attention, and the last thing he needs is to be identified.

The name Maevaris comes to his mind. A magister, who contacted Valeria on Varric's behalf, as the dwarf had told him. From his time with Danarius, Fenris knows the location of her estate. His former master had paid her visits several times, and he vaguely remembers rumors about the strange woman. Gossip is bread and butter in Minrathous, at times holding more power, than even magic. Perhaps, as Varric's relative, she would agree to help him once more.

He strolls down the street to the newer part of the city. To his surprise, the guards let him in without delay after reporting about a stranger, who calls himself an acquaintance of Varric Tethras. He waits in the lounge only for a few minutes, before Maevaris herself comes to meet him.

"You must be Fenris, correct?" She starts without preamble.

"Yes, magister." Pulling off the hood, he bows his head. "I suppose you've been informed about me?"

She looks over him, memorizing his features. "Indeed, I was. By our... mutual friend, I imagine."

He raises an eyebrow in question. "May I hope that you don't mean Varric Tethras?"

"Ah." She gives him an estimating glance, as if considering whether he is worthy or not. "I believe you are here to speak about our _other_ friend. Our very _helpful_ friend."

Looking away, Fenris shifts in discomfort. He had already forgotten about this small wordplay, that all magisters seems to enjoy so much. In any case, he can't find the strength to continue this game. He can only pray, that she is willing to help him. "Yes, I am here to speak about magister Cassia."

Her lips curve in a mischievous grin. "Took you long enough."

He nervously coughs. "Ah... yes." How much does she know, how much must he reveal in order to get the answer? He decides to tread as carefully, as possible. "May I ask where I could find her, magister?"

For a second her eyes take on a dreamy appearance, and if he wasn't trained to spot even a shadow of expression, he wouldn't have notice. "Why yes, you may. I doubt that a lonely woman would mind the company of such a handsome specimen."

Her subtle implication embarrass and spark a slight hope at the same time. She is still alone, and maybe, just maybe...

Maevaris provides him with detailed directions, and eager to get on the road, he barely manages to thank her. He turns away to leave the estate, when she nonchalantly remarks, making him falter for a moment.

"Perhaps you _are_ worth all the trouble."

**—**

Her new villa is located outside of the city and crossing the great bridge, Fenris walks south. What was her reasoning of selling the mansion? Even recalling her last words, he still doesn't dare believe. Surely she wouldn't do it just for him, it's laughable to think about that. His inner arguments come to an end, when within a few hours he stands before a high hedge, surrounding several buildings and a park around them. Going to the gates, he asks the guards about her, and after a short while, none other than Larinus comes to receive him.

"Why are you here, elf?" Her servant recognizes him in an instant. Fenris notices something akin to hate and pain in his eyes. Nothing is ever easy, it seems. He supposes that with his luck, he should not be surprised.

"I came to visit your Mistress. Inform her about me." He tries to be polite, aiming for a peaceful solution. It's doubtful that she would appreciate his return, if he began with murdering her servants.

"You're not welcomed here, dog!" Snarls Larinus, throwing his hands up in a fit of exasperation. "What, you came here to hurt her again? Crawl back to your hole, she doesn't need you!"

Fenris closes the distance between them in two long strides and leans in to bring his eyes on level with Larinus'. He didn't come all the way to be stopped by this slave.

"You _will_ take me to her." His low tone contains only a hint of the threat.

The guards tense, reaching for their weapons and he steps back, not taking his eyes away, however. He watches in silence, while Larinus is being torn between duty and emotions. At last the slave sighs in defeat.

He waves Fenris in. "Come. Take a left from the entrance. You'll see her."

Fenris walks to where he was directed, the thin path among the high grass and bushes of sunny flowers. It doesn't take him long, but when his eye capture her frame, his step falters. She sits with her back to him, on a bench under the tall trees, dressed in something light and airy. He instinctively stops to imprint this image in his mind, to stuff it away in memory and relish after. Feeling a hot and tight lump stuck in the middle of his chest, for a time he cannot bring his feet to move. He's terrified that she will ridicule, mock him, send him away. Suddenly he wants to run before it's too late. Just as this thought crosses his mind, she turns first her head, then wholly to him. Knowing that he's been spotted, Fenris takes an unsteady step forward. It is time for him to stop running.

Her eyes become huge and she brings a hand to her mouth. He never considered her beautiful in that commonly accepted sense, but in this moment he thinks, that she _is_ the most breathtaking being he's ever seen. Her lips tremble and the tears stand in her eyes. She doesn't take her gaze from him, not daring to blink the tears away, as if afraid that he will vanish with the slightest blow of the wind, like an elusive mirage. Walking towards her, Fenris warily sits on the edge of the bench, ready to jump up at the first sign of hostility. He would like to tell her everything that is on his mind, but finds that his throat is too constricted to speak. She cautiously reaches her hand to embrace him, and exhaling in relief, he rests his head in the crook of her neck. With his heart racing, Fenris feels something stiff crumble inside him. Swallowing hard, he manages to whisper the only words, that matter.

"I am yours."


	21. Memories

**—**

**Part VI**

**Memories**

_Song: "Undisclosed desires" by Muse_

* * *

They rest in the blank weariness of afterglow, when he recalls something, that was too important to him years ago, that it is still nagging in a secluded corner of his mind.

"I must... ask something." He tries to muster courage. "My sister, Varania. She led Danarius to me, betrayed me to become his apprentice. I haven't seen her since he brought me back to Minrathous. Do you... know anything about her?"

Staring at the ceiling, for a while she doesn't answer. He starts to think that it was a mistake to lay his past before her, when she says in a careful tone. "She was... naive to think he would do such a thing. She was needed for the one and only deed, and when she played her role, I believe she was sent away."

Propping on his elbow, Fenris takes her chin in his hand, turning her head to face him. He wants to see her eyes, as he speaks. "Do you know where she is?"

"I don't." She looks at him with a cryptic expression, similar to sorrow and... dismay? Considering his question answered, he feels a brief, but sharp sense of disappointment. But then she continues, as if against her will. "I can inquire... If _that_ is what you want."

Does he? What good would it do him? His sister betrayed him not five minutes after their reintroduction. What would their meeting now accomplish, other than stir his hate? But still... until this moment he didn't know _how_ much he wanted a completion with the remaining shard of his forgotten life.

"Yes." A single word is all he can utter, and the shades of his childhood again stand before his eyes.

Nodding, she shifts her gaze away.

**—**

In the ensuing week she seems distant, and he loses count of how many times he regrets bringing that question up. Finally he can bear it no longer.

"Forget that I've asked."

Shaking her head, she gives him a wry smile. "I can't, nor can you. You will find no rest until you know."

"Then tell me what's wrong." Pulling her closer, Fenris holds her tight in his arms, refusing to let her go until she answers.

"I am... afraid."

"Afraid of what - me? My sister?" Once more she doesn't make any sense.

She looks through him, as if watching some scene playing before her. "Afraid of losing you to your past... again."

"Fool." He almost crushes her bones, pressing her to his chest and covering her face with kisses. "Foolish woman."

She readily answers, holding back the tears. The next time she cries, it will be from pleasure, he swears to himself, setting her on the table. The bedroom is too far, he needs her now, needs to make her forget these stupid fears, to forget everything except him. Except them. He brings her over the edge until she can no longer scream, until her limbs only shiver in response, until anything, but their tangled bodies, fades in her clouded mind.

**—**

Two days later she receives a letter.

He is sparring with Marcus, lieutenant of her guards, and one of the few, who uses a greatsword as his weapon of choice. The burly man puts all his strength into the thrusts of his blade, but he lacks finesse, and more often than not Fenris forces him to yield. Only twice has he found the need use his markings to withstand the most vicious of blows. Parrying another charge from his sparring partner, he spies movement from the corner of his eye.

She strides towards them with determined steps, briskly waving the guard off to leave them.

"Your sister has returned to Qarinus." She announces, causing him to lose the grip on his sword. "In case you still wish to go meet her, I have arranged us a ship."

They stand in the middle of the training ground, looking at each other for a long time. There is fear in her eyes, but also resolve to see it through. Lowering his weapon, Fenris wipes a sweat from his forehead and slowly nods.

"Let us be done with it."

**—**

When they depart for Qarinus, he is grateful that she doesn't take any of her servants or guards along with them. His past is not something he would like to share. Their journey is uneventful, but the closer the ship gets to their destination, the stronger anticipation takes hold of him, leaving no room for anything, but anxiety. She doesn't comment on his state, instead reading to him from a book of tales, or quietly humming old songs. Although he is perfectly capable of reading on his own, her voice is soothing to his nerves. When night comes, he lays in bed, watching as moonlight draws mystical shadows on the wall.

In Qarinus she leads him straight to the alienage. He would be a fool to think that she doesn't know his sister's exact location, not with the power she holds. Even though both of them are draped in hooded cloaks, the staff in her hands and his sword commands respect, keeping thugs and prying eyes away. It's a late evening, when she knocks on an unremarkable door, one of hundred in the alienage.

The door opens, revealing a red bun and large olive eyes. His sister looks even more exhausted from what he recalls of their brief encounter.

"Mistress!" Bows Varania, surprised and worried. Then she recognizes him under the hood with her sisterly senses.

"Leto!" A muffled scream escapes her lips. Shaking her head in disbelief, she moves backwards, seeing in his eyes that he remembers. Slowly advancing, Fenris hears the sound of the door, closing behind, cutting them from the world. There is nothing between him and his treacherous sister, only the memories and his revenge.

She begs him for her life. She pleads for the magister to stop him. She promises to tell him everything, to unveil who he was, if only he spares her. This promise and the scraps of his memories stays his hand, against his better judgment. He learns of his past, of being born into slavery, of his fierce desire to set his family free, compelling him to compete for his markings. Of his mother, dead from disease on the streets of Minrathous, of his sister's desperate attempts to rise above the dirt and misery of the alienage, leading her to Danarius upon receiving the letters from Kirkwall.

He looks at the woman, who gave him the chance to get to know an elven boy by the name of Leto. A boy, who was dead long ago, slain by his own hand. She extends her hand, as an offer of haven, if he chooses to take it.

"Our memories make us who we were, Fenris." She says. "But it's our decisions, that make us who we _will_ be."

Fenris takes her hand, turning away from Varania. There is nothing else for him to reclaim.

"Let us leave this place."

At night, Valeria leans into him, gingerly nipping his earlobe, while her body is rocking above him in a tantalizing rhythm. She licks the shell of his ear in deliberate strokes, making him jolt against her in a spurt of unbearable pleasure, promising.

"We can create our own memories."


	22. Lessons

**—**

**Lessons**

* * *

In the following months they learn of their habits, quirks and flaws. They learn that the tales bend to reality. They learn that they are still mortal.

**—**

_They speak of him._

She listens to the beating of his heart, lightly resting her head on his chest. A heavy northern storm is raging outside, and they spend their time in bed, indulging in wine and watching the fury of unbridled weather. Sometimes his markings react to such outbursts of the nature, and this is one of these days.

He quietly says, not even trying to outvoice the roll of thunder. "I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope it's not too late."

"But you already did." Carefully, she takes his palm, aligning the tips of their fingers. He can't tell for certain, if she heard his words, or just understood the meaning from his tone.

"Did I?"

She nods without hesitation. "A year ago. Your eyes told me everything I needed."

"I left." Still uneasy, Fenris turns away in shame.

"You came back, that's what matters." She says these words with such confidence, that it makes him a bit envious. He would wish to have her faith in himself.

Wiping his face, he sighs. "I was a coward."

Placing her hand to his cheek, she nudges him to face her. Without taking her eyes away, she ghosts a kiss on the tip of his nose. "If you were, you wouldn't be here. You are the bravest person I know, Fenris."

He doesn't believe her, expressing his doubts with a snort. She mutters, planting feathery kisses on his shoulders. "You give yourself too little credit."

With his markings slowly calming under her ministrations, soon he finds himself forsaking the intention to argue over that blatant flattery.

**—**

_They speak of her._

"How can you still own a slaves?" Fenris drops his fork in a burst of indignation.

Taking a sip of wine, she offers him inscrutable look. "I don't own anyone, who doesn't want to be here."

He scoffs at her willful blindness. Even though they both remember their last conversation on this subject and what it led to, it doesn't stop him from trying to explain the whole atrocity of slavery.

"Yes, because they don't know anything else! They don't know how to live free."

"Yes, they don't! And what should I do - release them on the streets, to starve? They have nowhere to go, they don't have a homeland other than this. Would it be better if they lived somewhere in Orlais, rotting in their alienages?" She loses composure and he knows why.

"They would have a choice. Wasn't that what you said?" He strikes before leaving the room. He needs to go, else they will fight again.

Night falls by the time he finally comes back. She stands near the window in their bedroom, looking through it for something. She turns to him and Fenris notices a receding fear in her eyes, being replaced by immense relief. He knows what she was thinking all these hours, and he is mortified. Even if she was in the wrong, he was still too harsh on her. But before he can do anything, she goes to him and drops to her knees. She kisses his palms, his fingers, frantically whispering - "Don't do it again!" Not giving him a moment to think on the answer, she unlaces his trousers and brushes his length. When she takes him into her mouth, Fenris bucks his hips, stricken by a warm bliss, digging his fingers in her hair. He wants this moment to last.

**—**

_They speak of them._

"I feel like your dirty secret."

When she returns from an obligatory soiree, he's drinking. She stops on the threshold and sighs. He _is_ drunk, and he knows that his slurred voice betrays him. "Do you think I don't hear the rumors of the magister, bedding a slave, who killed her own husband?"

"Don't ever call yourself that! You are _not_ a slave!" An anger instantly marring her features, but it wouldn't fool him. He can see, that her fierce reaction is just a mask of denial.

"It doesn't change the rest of the facts." Wine loosens up both his thoughts and tongue. There is no future for them, and he wants her to admit it, too.

She comes to his chair and sits down on the floor, resting her head on his lap. He absently strokes her jaw, when she says. "We can leave."

He snorts. "And go where?"

"Anywhere. Wherever you would want." She nonchalantly shrugs and from this gesture he sees, how naive sometimes she could be.

"You are a _mage_. You will be an apostate outside of Tevinter. Do you want to hide all your life? Don't make me laugh!" He is bitter, but not at her. Bitter at injustice of this world, that is stronger than his wishes and her capabilities. Bitter at the curse of her birthright and his fate.

She contemplates in a wistful tone. "You told me about Wycome. Perhaps we can go there."

"Perhaps." He echoes, hardly believing her wiliness to drop everything just for him. But he is too drunk to call her on that.

**—**

When she leaves for an extraordinary Magisterium session, Fenris decides to work his sword, on a few of her guards. Their training became pretty much a habitual occurrence, and some of them even show promise. He gets lost in the whistle of steel and exertion of muscles, bending to his will. First cicadas starts to sing in the grass and a flush of the night's breeze grants reprieve to his heated body, when he returns to the mansion. She is back already, and when he enters their bedroom, she is breaking things against the wall.

Pointing at this havoc, he smirks. "I suggest you name each vase after its respective Senator, before smashing them down. It helps." It's not the first time she has come back from an assembly, irritated and ranting about her brethren.

"Speaking from experience, are you?" A crystal figurine shatters into tiny fragments not far from where he stands.

"Perhaps." Folding his arms, Fenris leans on the wall, letting her vent emotions.

She stops, huffing in frustration and clenching her fists. Then her posture droops as she turns away.

"I've been appointed to Seheron. As you well know, our assault troops have seized Alam not long ago. And as you know, the losses in manpower were more than severe. The Senior Enchanter was one of the casualties. I am to take his place and secure the Imperial foothold on the island."

His face darkens while she speaks. Forgetting the shards of glass on the floor, he strides across the room to take her in his arms. As she leans against him, he rests his chin on the back of her head. For a moment they don't move, each lost in their thoughts.

Sighing, he finally breaks the silence. "Couldn't you refuse? You are no battlemage, you're not conscripted to take a part in this war."

She hesitates before answering. "I've been reminded of a... certain debt to the Archon, among other things, to ensure my cooperation."

"Other things, like me?" He doesn't need her words to confirm the gut feeling. Instant stiffness of her body speak volumes. "What debt?"

For a while she stays mute. He begins to think that he would have to repeat the question, when she gives up. "His letter of authority, which gave me the privilege to speak in his name with the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall."

His first reaction is to tell her, that it was a mistake on his part to come back and endanger her status. The fact is - he forgot how to live without her, and can't bring himself to remember again. She was right, he's not a good liar.

Tightening his hold, Fenris takes a deep breath, even though he already knows, that his proposition will be pointless. But he has to try anyway. "Remember we spoke of Wycome? Let's leave this cursed city. I am not used to begging, but now I'm asking you to come with me."

She bleakly chuckles and he senses, that she's already been thinking on it. "And be hunted for the rest of our lives? If I refuse, it won't be like Danarius, it will be the whole power of the Imperium on our heels! No. I knew there would be consequences, and now it's too late for me to run."

She is aware of his feelings towards Seheron and the reasoning behind it, but he would die first, before letting her go there alone. He will stand by her side, even if he has to face his past.

"In that case, I will go with you."

She tenses and he prepares for a vehement argument, determined to deflect whatever reasons she would throw at him. Instead she slowly exhales, appreciatively squeezing his hand.

"It would be a lie, if I said that your decision saddens me greatly. Apparently, I'm a very selfish person."

Feeling her body slightly shaking in a fit of relieved chortle, Fenris just snorts at this comment.


	23. Reminiscence

**—**

**Reminiscence**

My wonderful friend - coldwetn0se, and some others, were interested in Valeria's backstory. I could not deny that request.

* * *

This night Fenris dreams of Seheron, first time after a long respite. Again and again he relives the sound of steel rending flesh, surprised shouts, turning into fiery curses. He sees the green of fern leaves, spattered with blood. Their eyes, wide with such diverse emotions - incomprehension, hurt, anger, compassion. So many, and all are dead by his hand, his weakness. He tears from the grip of his nightmare with a choked groan to find her, soothing his forehead with a gentle touch. She holds him in the shelter of her arms, until his breath comes to normal and sweat cools down on the sheets. Even though his markings are stinging, he doesn't want to be anywhere else. He doesn't say anything and she doesn't ask, but he sees the guilty look on her face.

She cuts all social contacts with the world, the single exception is Maevaris, who regularly comes to see them. Rest of the time she spends with him, relishing every remaining quiet moment.

Subdued by oncoming hardship, they cannot get enough of each other. Their lovemaking these days is intense and greedy, often on the border of violence, but they hardly notice scratches and bruises.

**—**

On one of Maevaris' visits, it results in both women locking up in the parlor. Feeling unwelcomed to their secrets, Fenris retreats to the library, finding comfort in the dusty smell of old tomes. Absorbed by the rare version of the Battle of Valarian Fields description, at first he doesn't notice her, stepping into the room. Resting her elbow on the edge of bookcase, she nods at the open book in his hands.

"Some believe Andraste and Shartan were lovers."

Breaking away from the reading, he looks up at her. "I've heard about this. Also, the Imperial Chantry is certain, that Andraste was a powerful mage. People believe in many things, mostly the ones that suits them."

"I doubt we'll ever know the truth." She pensively runs her fingers over the leather backs of the tomes, lined up on the shelf. "Sometimes I wonder if a mere chance defines our fates..."

Intrigued by the unusual note in her voice, Fenris intercepts her hand, pulling her to sit on his lap. "Is there something I don't know?"

Hiding her face in his chest, she takes a deep breath. Her tone is too even, when she begins to tell the tale.

"I stayed at home by chance. We were supposed to travel to our summer residence in Vyrantium. I had a quarrel with my father on the morning of departure. He sold a slave just the day before. He said I was developing an unhealthy attachment, that I should be grateful he was simply transferred to another owner instead of being killed. But I wasn't grateful. I yelled at him, locked up in my room and refused to come out. When his guards attempted to break through, I threatened to burn the house. He knew it would be too dangerous to insist, I was coming into my power. The ship was waiting, and he eventually left me alone, instructing one of his servants to bring me to the estate later. The servant's name was Larinus. And the ship never reached Vyrantium. I became the sole survivor of our lineage."

"Was it an accident?" He softly prompts, stroking her hair to ease the ache of memories. He realizes better than anyone, what it is to look in the past.

"The sea was serene, no storms. Some said those were pirates, but no raiders dare to hunt in the inner waters of Nocen. Besides, my family were mages, strong mages. It would have taken more than a raider ship to overcome them."

She doesn't need to add anything, they both think of the same, and most probable conclusion. Assassinations as the result of some magister's machinations, is not an uncommon fact. However, this information brings up another question.

"Then how did you end up with Danarius? Do not say it was a consensual marriage."

She bitterly chuckles. "Actually, it was. The Archon arranged our marriage. By that time I reached the peak of fertility, and Danarius wanted a purebred heir from an Altus bloodline. I was convenient as a scion of a deceased house with no manipulative relatives behind my back, so he was inclined to look past my own lack of allies in the Senate. He had enough influence for both. To the Archon, our union was lucrative as well, ensuring that Danarius could not strengthen his positions at the expense of his wife's family. And I... To me he was no different than any other magister. In fact, he was better than many of them from a political standpoint. And I had to produce a child, which would continue our line."

"Ah, yes." He scoffs, disgusted by the mention of that callous regulation. "No wonder the Argent Spire tracks all the records for noble lineages. Such an effective breeding program, with benefits of acquiring the power."

"Back then, I didn't know what he was." Her voice sounds defensively apologetic, and Fenris kisses the crown of her head in reassurance. The worst he could do now, is to give her the impression that his anger is directed at her. Calming down, she continues. "Once I discovered his true nature, I swore to the Maker to never mother his offspring."

Silence falls on the room, and he thinks he must say something, make sure she doesn't imagine that he is blaming her for that foul union. "My condolences, on losing your family and... your experience with Danarius. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

Why is it always so hard for him to offer a comfort? His words appear so helpless, so insufficient, making him scowl.

She suddenly lifts her head, claiming his mouth in a deep kiss. Surprised, he nevertheless gladly responds, feeling a familiar heat in his loins. His body's reaction is always so quick to her caresses.

Just as he begins to be engrossed in the growing pleasure, she fervently whispers in between kisses. "I regret nothing! It led me to you, and I wouldn't trade this occasion for any sort of a merry life."


	24. Devotions

**—**

**Devotions**

* * *

A few days later, Larinus suddenly appears in the archway to the courtyard. The same time as Fenris finishes his daily warm-up with the blade.

This event is strange in itself. The slave had been using every occasion to avoid him, and she never made Larinus a messenger between them. What would coerce her lackey to come here willingly? Curious, Fenris lowers his sword in indication that the slave have his attention. Larinus shifts his weight from foot to foot before taking a chest full of air.

"I'd wish you never came back, elf."

Fenris turns towards him with sarcasm, written on his face. "You sought me out just to inform me about your wishes?"

"No." The slave's features reveal a blatant hatred. "You know you are the reason she has to go there, aren't you? If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have these troubles."

Narrowing his eyes, Fenris takes a threatening step in the direction of her servant. "Do not think I'm deaf to the whispers, fool. Your point is?"

Larinus stumbles back, realizing the potential outcome of his foolhardy declaration. Content with the effect his movement had on the slave, Fenris turns away, just to hear Larinus spitting out. "I hope you'll die there, dog! Too bad Danarius was too soft to strip your hide."

"Get out!" The lyrium markings flare and the slave flees without asking twice. Watching his hasty retreat, Fenris can only hope that she won't find out about this exchange. It will add nothing to her worries.

**—**

Next day his ears catch the two agitated voices, coming from her study. Hers and Larinus'. Anticipating bad news, he stops before the door to listen.

"Mistress, no! Please, don't send me away." Larinus' voice is full of despair. Fenris sighs to himself. It would be too much to ask, that her slaves were any different, than the rest of Minrathous' gossipers.

"And what should I do?" Her uncharacteristically high-pitched tone causes him to wince. He doesn't like this sound in the slightest. "You threaten my lover and think I will let it slip? Who do you think you are?"

"Mistress, please. I've always been loyal to you. Do anything, just don't send me away!"

These words bring hideous memories before Fenris' eyes. Enough, - he swears as he opens the door, and yes - her lackey is on his knees before her.

"Leave us!" Growls Fenris to him, at the same time throwing her a heavy glance.

The slave scurries out of the room. Closing the door behind him, Fenris slowly turns around. Ducking her chin, she nervously wraps her arms over her chest. His face promises thunder. He doesn't know yet what he's going to do, but he cannot just sit and watch her, bullying slaves. Even if the idiot deserved it, he cannot allow it for the sake of their relationship.

"So..." He drawls after a long pause, filled with apprehension. "Old habits die hard?"

She holds her hand up in defense. "It's not what you think."

Annoyed, he purses his lips. "Isn't it? And what should I think?"

"No, it's not." Stubbornly shaking her head, she tries to dismiss incoming accusations. "I wasn't going to punish him, not in the way you imagined."

He cannot understand why she chose to play him right now, to deny the obvious. It wounds his trust even more, than her unforeseen actions.

"Oh, so this hysteria was just for show then? Do you think I'm a fool?"

"Yes, you are! I was going to set him free and release him from service!" She shouts, and her voice breaks, when his eyes widen as a result of this revelation.

"Free?" He dully repeats, replaying the whole scene over in his mind. Ashamed, Fenris looks away. It's not the first time, when he was too quick in his assumptions. He attempts to remedy the situation. "Ah, then... it's good?"

"No, it's not! You saw his reaction. Do you still want to talk about their freedom?" She redirects their old argument back to him, and this snarky response hits his boiling point.

"I don't want to hear another word from you, mage!" Snarling, he bangs the door open.

Grabbing his sword, Fenris leaves the estate and goes all the way to Minrathous' harbor. Watching the filthy water and listening to the sounds of a busy port, he wonders how she can be so infuriating and at the same time so bewitching. This mystery of her would never cease to amaze him. Still, these musings doesn't stop him from recalling, that he was rude to her once again. Rude, and this time - also wrong. He would need to apologize, and the sooner the better. He ponders the possibility of bringing her a gift, but what could he get, that she doesn't have already.  
Scowling at the complications of living with a rich woman, he trails back to her mansion.

"I... am sorry." He says as he enters their bedroom and sees her swollen eyes. "I was wrong. Here... it's for you." He lamely finishes, extracting a small bouquet of the simple wildflowers from behind his back.

She looks at him, the flowers, and back at him, then pinches herself as if reassuring that she is not dreaming. Expecting anything but this reaction, he feels totally lost, not knowing what else to do.

Attempting to smile, she states with uncertainty, "Not sure if this real..."

"What?" Treading such unknown territory, Fenris desperately tries to grasp at some appropriate reply. Nothing comes to his mind, however, and he sighs. "I knew it was a bad idea. I just... had no time to find anything better. Forgive me."

Unable to meet her gaze any longer, he turns away. The best course of action will be getting rid of that pathetic effort at an apology, but what would he do next? Coming to a conclusion, that dealing with one problem at a time would be the simplest way to go, he starts walking towards the door, when the sound of quick steps behind reaches his ears. Her hand snatches the bouquet from him, and dumbfounded, he turns back to be pulled into a kiss.

"You don't understand the value of your gift, you daft elf."

Tasting salt on her lips, Fenris thinks that perhaps he is not so hopeless.

**—**

In a week Fenris stands by the window in the study, and watches as she gives her final instructions to Larinus. In the end she keeps her lackey. However, she is not taking any of the servants along. Not that he wants her slaves to dally around them, but it is nonetheless unusual for a magister to travel so meagerly, with no slaves in tow. He cannot help but frown in concern.

"You are the head of the household now. Use my name as you see fit. If you can't deal with something, ask for magister Maevaris Tilani. She will help you."

Larinus bows his head. "Yes, Mistress. We will be waiting for your return, and may the Maker guard you from any harm."

She picks a leather folder from the desk and holds it out to him. "And take this. It's a freedom deeds for you and the rest. You might need it."

Both men jerk their heads up in surprise.

"But Mistress, no... You've already asked!" The slave looks like he is about to grovel again. Fenris turns away in disgust.

She bites on her lip, as if trying to delay the words that has to be said. "You know what will happen, if I won't come back. You will be sold to another master, so just take it and stop arguing. Now go!"

Longingly looking her in the eye, Larinus takes the folder with trembling hands. Before leaving the room he throws Fenris a hurtful glance, and bows again.

"As you say, Mistress."

Leaning back on the wall, Fenris gestures towards receding figure. "You realize what he feels for you."

It doesn't sound like question and she doesn't try to play coy.

"I do."

Slightly perplexed by this shameless admission, all he manages to convey - is expressing his disapproval with a grunt. But the slave stays in Minrathous, and he decides to let it go, for now.

On the next day they sail for Alam with minimal reinforcements.


	25. Perfect denial

**—**

**Part VII**

**Perfect denial**

**Warning: **smut.

_Song: "A beautiful lie" by 30 seconds to Mars_

* * *

Sounds of the nearest forest and the calls of seagulls crash on his senses like a tidal wave, and it is as if he had never left. Twelve years disappear before his mind's eye, and he has to peek at her, standing beside him, to reaffirm himself that all of this is reality. Taking a hold of his hand, she smiles, but he catches the traces of fear in her eyes.

They go to headquarters to report of their arrival to the highest ranking officer. Walking arm in arm with her, Fenris spots sideway glances and frowns thrown in their direction. She doesn't twitch a muscle, holding his hand in a tight grip. He can discern their reactions - it isn't often, when a Senator treats an elven servant the way she does. He wonders what is this reasoning of her, challenging these social foundations. And he is not sure, if he's contented to play this game. Thankfully, they are out of Minrathous and it's not nearly as dangerous to defy the principles, but still...

The door before them opens and they face their new host.

"Welcome to Seheron, Senator! I am Octavius, General of the Imperial forces on Seheron." He greets her, at the same time eyeing Fenris with poorly veiled interest. "I have been notified of your arrival beforehand, but we had to discuss some urgent matters. I hope you can forgive my lack of etiquette."

Assessing the potential danger, Fenris studies him in return. The man looks much younger and inexperienced, than he thought he would be. He muses if Octavius was the original military leader of the Seheron troops, or if he is simply another replacement to patch the holes in their depleted numbers.

She interrupts his silent observations. "I believe the matters were urgent enough, General. As you should have been informed, I am Senator Cassia and I am to take the place of Senior Enchanter on Seheron." She glances over Octavius with a thin smile, seemingly not impressed by his appearance at all. Fenris inwardly sighs - the woman is up to something, and the evident weakness of their vis-a-vis would only increase her desire. She almost instantly confirms his guesses. "And this is Fenris, my right hand and closest companion. I would insist that you regard him just the same, as me."

"Eh... Senator?" Hesitantly asks Octavius, while both him and Fenris stare at her in astonishment. She gives them the best imperious look, which would put any royalty to shame. Stifling a nervous cough, the human is first to slowly extend his hand. Fenris casts her a glare, but she appears to be set on continuing this charade.

"Ah, forgive my obliviousness. Fenris takes offense in physical contact, other than mine. You would be wise to remember that." A sweet poison almost visibly trickles from her tongue.

Completely lost, Octavius opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it.

After that 'formal' introduction she abruptly pulls Fenris into a deep kiss, to everybody's and his, shock. Announcing that she is tired from an exhausting trip, she respectfully asks him to accompany her to their living quarters. Bewildered, and if he is fair to himself - a bit frightened by that brazen demeanor, he decides to confront her on that, as soon as they reach the privacy of their designated rooms.

**—**

Blocking the door with his body, Fenris turns to her. "Are you mad, woman? What was that about?"

"What's _that_?"

Her deceptively innocent face only angers him further. Folding his arms, he leans back, trying to suppress his temper. "Oh, so you think that was a good idea? What are you up to?"

She casually shrugs, as if her previous act isn't even worthy of mentioning. "I have decided to drop the pretense." Seeing his eyebrows coming together, she points her finger at him. "You are my lover, and I won't let them treat you as servant! You are better than any of them on the battlefield, and they will honor that!"

Making an effort to distract himself from an inner turmoil, he strides towards the window, gripping its frame with both hands. He speaks through gritted teeth after taking a several deep breaths. "You know it will _not_ be tolerated in Tevinter. I am an elf and a former slave, you are a magister."

"You deserve their respect, and more. I'm just sorry it took me so long."

Is it a misery in her voice? Shit, not again! He can't believe, that all this farce was a result of her, blaming herself for his decision.

"You act suicidal all of a sudden, and you think I would just stand and watch? Think again!"

"Yes you would, and they would accept you as my equal!" Again, she holds to her stubborn mood, and Fenris starts to see red. Growling, he slams his fist into the wall, creating a dent on its surface and a cloud of broken plaster. If they continue, he cannot guarantee not saying something he would regret.

In a few minutes, when he calms down, she comes to him, wrapping her hands around his chest. Obviously considering the case closed and trying to make up for provoking his outburst, she nibbles at his throat, suggestively rubbing herself against him. Even though his fury almost instantly recedes, being replaced by smoldering hunger, he recognizes her intent. The woman wants to distract him from this unpleasant subject, but she forgets that two can play her game. Exploring her mouth with his tongue, he urges her towards the bed. On their way he starts to free her from clothes, and while she does the same with his armor, slightly pushes her to lay down. He is not surprised to find her quite ready, their argument has been heated enough to cause this reaction. Just as he enters her, he stays himself, not moving an inch. At first she waits for him to continue, then attempts to take him in whole, arching her back to meet him. He takes hold of her hips, stilling her movements, forcing her to groan in frustration.

Watching her flushed face, he gives her a single hard thrust and stops again. "Tell me you won't do anything stupid."

She cries out in vexation, and he covers her mouth with his own, muffling her screams. Now she understands his plan, but her state and pose don't leave much room for maneuvering. She gives it a shot anyway, trying to throw him off herself, digging her nails into his forearms. Straining his muscles, he only grunts in response. In the end she whines against his lips from what looks to be desperation and unfulfilled desire.

Tearing his mouth away, he releases a ravenous chuckle. "You need more practice in close combat, mage."

"Fuck you!" Seeing her in this impotent rage, he briefly wonders if she would use magic against him for the first time. He is willing to risk it.

"So far it's the other way around." Another chuckle and another thrust. "Tell me!"

Clinging to him, she pleads, hanging on the edge of her sanity. "By the Maker, please! Anything, just finish it!"

As much as he wants to tease her a bit longer, his control is slipping too fast. He was already on the brink with all her twitches. She clenches onto his length and he dives in. The warmth of her core is pure bliss, and in a short while he finds himself unable to hold on, too soon to his liking. But it seems that their unusual foreplay stimulated her even more than him, and delighted, he follows her erratic tremors into his own peak.

Trying to calm his breath, Fenris murmurs, gently kissing her swollen lips. "Do not forget your promise."

Yet another moment to remember.


	26. Storm gathering

**—**

**Storm gathering**

_Song: "Awake and alive" by Skillet_

* * *

"We have a report from our spy. The Qunari are gathering forces in Seheron. He is pretty confident that they will make their move soon, both by land and sea." Octavius' face displays a great level of concern, and Fenris understands these fears too well. He knows what a full blown Qunari assault would do to their diminished troops.

Noting their sullen expressions, she frowns. "How many?"

"So far - close to eight thousands in land forces and six dreadnoughts."

A sinister silence falls in the room, while all men exchange meaningful looks.

Evidently refusing to admit gravity of the situation, she stares at the military leader with suspicion. "And just how reliable is that information? I find it hard to believe that the Qunari have managed to form such an army without disclosure."

"I'm sorry, my lord. It seems I am best to answer that." Intervenes the old legionnaire with a scarred face, who serves as the captain of their scouts. Octavius shrugs in relief, letting the man speak. "His report's are reliable, as scouting information can be, milady. It became increasingly difficult to infiltrate Seheron since our retake of Alam, but I've no reason to doubt him. His allegiance to the Imperium has been proven multiple times."

Disheartened, she shifts her gaze to Fenris. He can see, that she has finally accepted the threat. "Then how much time do we have? The Senate has promised us reinforcements within a month. At least three legions, several dozen elephants and ten battlemage squads."

Turning away, Octavius puts his hands behind his back, nervously flexing the fingers. "I'm afraid there is a fair chance it would be too late, Senator. We sent additional scouts in that area, but from our experience the Qunari should almost be ready to get on the march. According to our experts - probably in a week." For a while he looks out of the window, before turning back to declare his proposal. "I recommend we make a tactical retreat to Minrathous at the first signs of their approach. And if the western route is blocked, we go to Carastes."

"I am no sailor, General, but I trust the remaining ships are capable of taking less than a quarter of our troops. If we want to evacuate _everyone_, we would have to start now."

Fenris wishes he could warn her of what is likely to come next. She still retains some faith in humanity, his mage, despite years spent in the Senate.

Pursing his lips, Octavius appears to be set on his decision. "I won't run until we are entirely sure, that the Qunari will reach Alam sooner, than our reinforcements. If you want to be tried before the Imperial Court for desertion - be my guest."

Fenris fails to hold back the scowl. Of course, it is as expected. From the slight change in her posture he sees, that she begins to understand.

"And what would you suggest, then?" She prompts in a deceitfully soft tone.

Predictably, the human falls into this trap. "We would have to leave the slaves and majority of lowborn Soporati behind. Mages, staff and their retinue, and the officers are our priority. A typical arrangement."

An arrangement, that once left him to die. They simultaneously look at each other, both remembering. She opens her mouth, but his forestalling glance snaps it shut. There is a question in her eyes, begging him for some sort of a guidance, but what answer can he offer to her? She is one of the mages, and by that solution she will be safe. This is all that matters.

Seemingly confused by his compliance, she unexpectedly changes the line of her questioning. "Have you gotten any reports of the rebels in the vicinity?"

"Rebels?" Octavius looks to be taken by surprise. "Ahem... almost none, Senator. They should know about the Qunari preparations, too. I expect them to gather their forces and launch a series of attacks on survivors, in hopes of retaking the town."

"A wise decision." Fenris' voice is full of irony.

He receives an indignant glare from the human, but she thoughtfully repeats. "Wise, indeed."

Her face takes on a faraway expression, which causes his markings to sting in alarm. And so it begins anew, despite all the claims? Didn't take her long to forget the promise, but this time she chose a wrong subject to meddle with. Coughing to get her attention, he subtly tilts his head towards the door and she instantly makes a suitably worried face.

"I shall take your plan into consideration, lord Octavius, and give my answer shortly. Now, if you would excuse us." With these words she leads a quietly seething Fenris out of the war room. Despite numerous pokes on her part, he refuses to speak until they enter their living quarters.

**—**

His restraint only lasts so much, before he kicks the door shut.

"Whatever you are plotting, don't even think of that!"

She grins, widely spreading her arms. "Octavius is a fool. If anything, I wonder how he became the General in the first place. The man can't see past his nose." She starts pacing in agitation, counting something on her fingers and leaving him tracking her steps, ill at ease from suspense. Just as he decides to grab her hand to stop that frantic movement, she sharply turns on her heels to face him. "This is a perfect opportunity, Fenris! We'll stay and fight."

"What?!" He can't believe he just heard from her the most idiotic idea in his life. What is wrong with this woman? Surely, she can't be serious, no.

"No, I will not allow it! You don't understand, this is too dangerous. If you are captured... No!"

She raises her hand in an attempt to halt his rejection. "Wait! I know you think I'm insane, but I have a plan."

"Already? What kind of plan, other than throwing your life away?" His sarcasm is the answer to her folly. It serves better than rage in convincing her, that she shouldn't downplay their situation. He needs the help of logic to dissuade her from committing such recklessness she already fancied. He cannot risk her getting into Qunari hands, not with her magic.

"Well, _that's_ not much of a plan." At first impishly smirking at her own silly joke, she quickly becomes serious after seeing his menacing gaze. "All right, all right, listen to me. We have almost two-thirds of their numbers and we..."

"And you don't have their dreadnoughts. And their cannons! They will tear these walls apart within days. From a safe distance I must add. Like they always do. You don't have warships to fight them!" He pinpoints the flaws in her plan.

Unsurprisingly, his efforts go in vain, just as he feared. Captivated by her idea, she almost jumps from impatience. "You are right! I don't have warships. But I have _ships_. Look..."

While she explains the basics of her strategy, Fenris begins to think they might stand a chance, despite all odds. But it's the second part, that defeats his arguments.

"If we manage to hold Alam until reinforcements arrival, I can appeal to the Archon for replacement. There is no way in Thedas he would reject my request. Coming victorious, we can leave the Imperium with no repercussions." Catching her breath, she looks down at her palms, clenched in tight fists. "I was indecisive, I blew the chance of getting away! It won't happen again."

A fresh opportunity to get away from the strangling grasp of Tevinter? This sounds like a dream, too good to be true. But what do they have left for them, if not dreams? Here, on the edge of the known world, bound by debts and loyalty...

Suddenly Wycome appears within reach.

Yielding, he grumbles. "You will be the death of me, woman."

She leans into him, wrapping her hands around his waist. "I need you, Fenris! I need your help with the details, you know the Qunari much better than I. And I need you to believe in me!"

Taking her chin in his hand, he looks her straight in the eye. "I will support your crazy plan, on one term only. You must agree to leave the town and escape to the western settlements in case the walls breach." He pauses to make his words count. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes. We have a deal." Her eyes shine with anticipation. "Now, let them come."


	27. Carrots and sticks

**—**

**Carrots and sticks**

* * *

"It's a risk, and I'm not even sure we would be able to implement this. We will put _all_ remaining forces in jeopardy, if I agree to that." Skeptically looking at the map, Octavius rubs his chin.

Seeing her eyes flash in challenge, Fenris prepares to entertain himself with the sight of the fool, trying to discourage her. The woman is like a mule, once she got something into her head.

"It is a reasonable risk, General. If we secure Alam, the credits for successful defense will be shared between us. And I will take all responsibility before the Senate on myself, if this plan fails."

"If your plan fails, there will be nobody to call on that responsibility." His eyes flicker to Fenris. "You're too soft on the slaves, Senator. Was it your pet elf's idea?"

Fenris winces. He would have taken great pleasure in ripping the man's heart out, but alas, it is not to be. Not yet. Though the general chose a very unfortunate timing to recall on his treatment upon their arrival, and her response just confirms his expectations.

"His name is Fenris,in case you forgot, and he is not a pet. In fact, he is more valiant a person than you could ever hope to be. And as a brave person, of course he supported and contributed to my plan. As will you, Octavius." Staring daggers, she drags out the words.

"Will I? What part of my objection drew this conclusion?" Haughtily sniffs the human, not looking convinced.

Discreetly nodding to Fenris, she snickers. "Yes, you will. See, you have three ways to go from here. First - is agree to our plan and earn the fame, as well as my support in the Senate. Certainly it should count for something."

"Your support would be no good for me, if we are all dead."

The fool still doesn't get that his fate has already been sealed, trying to grasp at the shreds of his dignity. Fenris doesn't mind. With this rejection, they have no choice but to follow the hard route, and he would find satisfaction in seeing the buffoon's face wrung in torment.

"Ah yes, we will come to that. All in good time, my lord." Her lips curve in a devious smile, and Fenris can't help but roll his eyes. "Second - is return to the Imperium in shame, with your tail between your legs. I suspect, if I were to remark that you made no attempt to oppose the Qunari, it wouldn't aid your future."

Finally sensing the danger, Octavius starts to turn pale. Realizing that there is only three of them in the room, he cautiously asks, taking a step back. "And the third option - is...?"

"And the third option is..." She repeats, abruptly turning to Fenris. "Fenris, what would you do, if someone stood between you and something you _really_ wanted?"

The lyrium flares bright and in the next moment his fingers brush over Octavius' heart. The man cries out in sharp pain, instinctively gripping at his gauntlet. He could have tried to move a mountain with the same success. His legs give away and only Fenris' hold keeps him standing.

"You see, the third option - is not return at all." Nearly purring, she leans closer to drink in the expression of agony on his distorted face. "What would you choose, Octavius?"

"You... you wouldn't dare!" Panting, manages to utter the human. "The Senate will know, you would be exiled. No... you can't!"

She chops the air, giving Fenris a sign, and he begins to slowly tighten his grasp. The heart in his hand flutters like a feather, the sensation of that wild rhythm is brutally gratifying.

Unable to even scream, the man pathetically groans. Tilting her head in amusement, she casually protests. "I highly doubt that. But even then - _you_ won't be there to witness it."

" Fenris," She asks him again, not taking her eyes from Octavius. "What would Qunari say?"

"Ataash varin kata." He recites in a husky voice, squeezing some more. Observing the tears and feeling the mad jumps of the fool's heart, he almost smiles. "In the end lies glory."

She stretches her lips in a ruthless grin, which reminds him that no matter what, she is still a magister. "What inspiring words. So, General - is it glory or death in the end?"

"Yes, yes, I agree!" As the last bits of strength chokes out Octavius. "Just tell him to stop!"

Negligently wiping a tear from his cheek, she grimaces in distaste. Chuckling at her reaction, Fenris withdraws his hand. That has taken slightly less time than he anticipated, and she sounds as pleased as he feels. "I knew you would be reasonable. Now, call for a meeting. Let's not delay _our_ announcement any further."

Left without support, the human falls to his knees, coughing and clutching at his chest. Fenris fights back the cackle.

**—**

Watching her command the remaining ships to their destination, Fenris admits that her plan looks more and more feasible with every passing hour. Gaining the consent of Octavius was a big win for them, even if it wasn't entirely willing. He smirks, recalling that scene. Although she asked him to use his markings for torture, the same way as Danarius often did, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. He would kill any of these soldiers without blinking, if it would mean getting closer to their freedom. Perhaps sensing his determination and, as a result, too scared for his hide, the coward didn't dare to call her on the violence before his subordinate officers.

With these preparations, the only remaining significant problem is their number of mages, and sadly, it cannot be fixed. Her brethren would have to work twice as hard to compensate for the lack of firepower. Puffing, he marvels at the irony of the day, when he wishes for more mages. It certainly has been a long road for him to come to this level of tolerance.

The good news, relating to magic users, is that according to the quartermaster, they have more than enough lyrium to withstand an incoming siege. And - numerous slaves. His elated mood disappears. Would she resort to sacrifices, if the need were great enough? Would _he_ stomach it? It was so simple back then, when he had nothing to lose, but his own freedom. And now he cannot answer with certainty. All he knows is that he will never be able to look at her with the same eyes, if she would fall prey to temptation.

Dashing away these sour thoughts for a moment, he shifts his attention back to her activities. Standing on a cliff, she guides the captains with the help of magical wisps, to an estimated locations of their vessels. When all ships casts anchor and their respective crews leave for the shore, she extends her hand towards an askew line of the hulls and bare masts, that crosses bottleneck of the harbor. Just as the first fireball hits the waterline and a new one arises above her palm, Fenris unexpectedly recalls an old painting, that he saw in some magister's estate during one of Danarius' visits. He doesn't know the name of the painting or its author, but he remembers the woman, portrayed in it. In this striking moment she looks almost the same, as that ancient mage. Even her surroundings adds to that resemblance, making the whole scene surreal.

**—**

As they walk back to the town, he takes her by the arm to stop.

"Would you allow sacrifices?"

Taken by surprise, she quickly casts her eyes to the ground, and that can indicate only one thing. He feels something breaking inside him, and suddenly it's hard to breath.

Shuffling the soil with her foot, she wearily rubs her forehead. "Not if I can avoid it. I might not be given a choice." The corner of her mouth dips down. "We live in desperate times, Fenris."

"Always a reason." He drops her hand with a disgusted face. Unable to witness that proof of her allowance any longer, he turns away, looking at the smooth expanse of the sea. "Bah, ignore me."

Attempting to put some logic behind her rationale, she delivers the final argument. "If it means saving lives, your life..."

Her efforts have the opposite effect. Instantly furious at this mention, he whirls around, incapable of stopping himself from lashing out. "Don't even think about bringing in _my_ life, when you talk of blood magic!"

Her voice sounds defeated, when she speaks after a heavy pause. "I promise you, that _I_ will not use it under any circumstances. And stop others from doing it, if I can."

Yesterday she asked him to believe in her, and if only she knew how much he wants to trust without reservations. He wishes he had the words to tell her this. Instead he stands still, just looking at her and not saying a word, but this time she doesn't take her eyes away, enduring his scrutiny. In the end he sighs, gesturing for her to continue walking.

"Let's hope this will be enough."

In ten days they receive first reports of approaching Qunari. Many scouts, however, do not come back.


	28. Tides of war

**—**

**Part VIII**

**Tides of war**

_Song: "Carnival of rust" by Poets of the Fall_

* * *

Four days later the sentries spot the Qunari dreadnoughts. Upon hearing the peal of the alarm bell, she cannot resist the urge of climbing atop the watchtower to get a better view. Understanding the thrill of anticipation, Fenris follows her, to see the gigantic warships slowly turning around, facing the entrance of the harbor. She instinctively grips his arm with both hands. In these impossibly long minutes, it feels like all noises has died out. Observing the incoming vessels, he recalls the sounds of sloshing water against a hull. Shaking his head, he makes an effort to break this illusion and concentrate on that which is unfolding. They watch as the first dreadnought comes closer to the bottleneck, and this waiting is slowly killing him. It is now or never, - a rogue thought worms its way into his head. Here comes the first and ultimate test of her planning. If it fails, she'd better be ready to pack their belongings in haste, unless she wants to be hauled out of the town by force. Ironically, he knows for certain that they won't be the first to flee.

When the ship crosses that invisible line, etched in his mind, both of them involuntarily hold their breath. A long drawn crunch reaches his ears, then almost instantly - a sound of deep impact, and the giant abruptly stops dead in its tracks, running aground on their hand-made shoal and shuddering with its entire body in throes. Fenris slowly exhales. This part has worked beyond all expectations, and listening to her excited battlecry, he thoughtfully smiles.

Looking down, he sees that they're not alone. Legionnaires and a small number of yet remaining citizens swarm the walls, sharing her enthusiasm. Many do not leave for hours, fearing that the Qunari would make an attempt to land, despite the shipwreck almost entirely blocking the bottleneck. She stays as well, and he stays with her, for moral support if nothing else. Mindful of his reluctance for public displays of affection, she tries to keep her gratitude in check, but often fails, touching his arm or resting her head on his shoulder. And he finds that he is more comfortable with her delicate embrace in front of strangers, than he thought he would. More than once he smiles at her chit-chat or squeezes her hand in return.

Their concerns for the landing, however, proves to be unwarranted, as the horned giants are too busy with freeing their ship. It's not until midnight, when the Qunari finally disentangle the dreadnought and move it back to open waters.

By the next morning there is no signs of the floating fortresses.

**—**

In two days Fenris stands on the wall, alongside her, Octavius and the officers. All of them are observing the front lines of the Qunari forces.

She states matter-of-factly. "I see only small cannons. So far everything is going according to plan."

Amused, he rolls his eyes at this assertion. "Well, it's sort of difficult to bring heavy artillery through this coastline, jungles and blown roadway. Fixing the road would take them weeks."

Spying his derisive grimace with the corner of her eye, she kicks the wall in annoyance.

"I am relieved. At least I won't have to listen to the quartermaster harp on squandering lyrium, for nothing."

Squinting to evaluate the distance, Octavius interrupts their spat. "These cannons shouldn't be a sizable threat to the wall, they are of short range. Once the Qunari position the artillery at their intended targets, the mages can deal with them." Staring for a bit, he hopefully adds - "No siege engines either."

"They will bring components from the dreadnoughts and assemble it on the shore. The coastline is too rocky for heavy transport, but they will use small boats for joints and wheels." Fenris readily destroys his positive mood, earning a livid scowl from the human.

Unaffected, she dismisses his warning with a shrug. "No big deal. As soon as an engine would get close, I shall be able to nail it with inferno."

It seems that today, they both desire to get under each others skin. If he didn't know her in private, he would bet that this hubris is an inborn trait of all magisters. And as it goes, he gladly raises the stakes. "It's not that simple, you know. Do not underestimate the Qunari's experience in battling mages. They will coat the mechanism with one of their fireproof compositions. You would need a _lot_ of lyrium to sustain the spell and melt it down."

"You can use some of my slaves, Senator." Fawns Octavius, ignoring a murderous glare from Fenris.

She grants him with a brief glance. "Always so helpful, aren't you, General? I admire your generosity. Thankfully, I don't need blood for such a simple spell."

Repressing a spontaneous chuckle, Fenris turns away, letting her play her usual games with Octavius and his men. He watches as the Qunari start to build the warcamp, well out of reach of Tevinter defenders. At the rate the deployment is going, they should expect the first attack tomorrow.

Either assuming the same, or simply sensing impending bloodshed, she excuses herself early, from the evening's meeting. Their little bickering long forgotten, she nearly pounces him as the door shuts behind them. There is no room for restraint before the glaring finality of their lives, waiting right outside the city's walls, and he wholeheartedly shares her sentiment.

At night he holds her close, kissing her temple to calm the nervous agitation.

**—**

Next morning they deflect probing attacks. It largely consists of archers from both sides, testing their aim. Mages save their strength, interfering mostly when the Qunari attempt to bring their cannons within the firing range. A group of Saarebas, likely from the same unit, launches several shimmering balls of chaotic energy in the midst of the defenders, causing havoc. Just as they get ready for the next round, a timely placed cloud of entropic mist and subsequent blasts of fire, silences the tamed mages for good. Looking aside and spotting her satisfied smile, he approves with a smirk of his own.

In between battle screams, sharp cries and occasional explosions Fenris listens to a distant clattering of metal and the whining of saws. Human ears are not as keen, and thus he shares his conclusions with her. She frowns, but says nothing. This noise follows him through the battle, merging with repetitive sounds of pain.

By the end of the day, the Qunari manage to scarcely damage the eastern part of the wall, and Octavius sends slaves to hastily patch it, barely waiting for the fire to cease. More than a few fall from stray arrows, and the general's score on a murder tab rises to a handful. Too bad they still need him to handle the troops.

On a pre-count they lose more than three hundred soldiers and two mages. No one bothers to count the slaves. But the Qunari suffer losses too, and the result seems to be in favor of the Tevinters. Protection of the walls and superior magic, tips the scales on their side.

This night, she repacks the vials with lyrium several times, until fed up with her fussing, he drags her to bed. He has the ingenuity to make her forget the day's worries.


	29. Stalemate

**—**

**Stalemate**

* * *

In the morning the first thing to draw their attention - is an assembled siege engine. This time it's one of those giant rams with a conical iron head, its frame is hidden under the thick wooden plates, secured together with metal joints and bars. The wood appears too dark for being freshly cut, and is slightly gleaming in the rising sun. The construction looks ominous enough to plant the sprouts of trepidation among the younger soldiers.

Apparently moved by this sight as well, she defiantly flinches a shoulder, instinctively groping the loads of lyrium, stuffed in the pockets on her belt. Her lips move, inwardly reciting something. Or perhaps it is the first time he sees her praying. Better familiar with Qunari warfare, Fenris is more concerned with the amount of gathering warriors. If her magic fails, their only option would be an attempt of foray into the enemy lines in hopes of causing a mess and destroying the engine.

It's halfway through the morning, when the spiked wheels begin to roll and the ground trembles under the tramp of marching feet. The timing of the attack is certainly not coincidental, as the sun shines brightly right behind the Qunari formation, preventing defenders from aiming with precision. Shielding his eyes, Fenris briefly counts the numbers, that the Qunari has put forth. Several squads of heavily-armored melee surround the ram from both sides, no doubt foreseeing counterattack. A much larger mass of archers treads after them, and if he remembers the ratio correctly, it looks like the Qunari threw all their ranged forces into this rush. But the biggest headache will be dozens of Saarebas, lurking in the back.

Standing beside him in full battle attire, she flips the edge of her staff towards the enemies, checking its balance with wry face. Noting his gaze, she changes this expression to a broad smile, showing that nothing suggests conceivable problems. So why does he get the strange feeling, that she may end up breaking her promise?

A distant scream interrupts his observations. The battle commences with archers, exchanging shots, and one of them finds its target. Soon after several mages joins the fray, trying to damage the giant machine. Their attempts don't seem to hinder its inexorable crawl, nor do they seriously wound the ones that set it in motion. He quickly points out to her the meaningless of their actions, and she sends the command to stop wasting strength on the ram, focusing the troops instead.

When the fire becomes too concentrated to stay exposed for a channeling spell, Fenris urges her down the wall. She complies, but not before ordering the nearest officer to give her a signal, when the ram comes within range. He himself stays, however, despite her protests, not trusting this human to gauge the distance properly. Crouching behind the cover of the wall, he checks the Qunari progression every now and then, while she stands right below, not taking her eyes off him for a second.

The ram creeps up almost twenty feet before the gates, when he shouts - "Now!", lifting his hand in affirmation. Gripping the staff with both hands, she plunges its bladed end into the ground, and starts casting.

First a dot, then ring, and soon - a whirlpool of fire appears floating above the menacing construction, mimicking its halted movement. The fire stretches into a funnel, tentatively brushing the top of the engine with its tail. Rapidly expanding into a column, the burning fury envelops the ram, obscuring virtually everything inside its scope. Seemingly lazy, but no less mesmerizing, the rotation of the column attracts eyes of every live creature on the battlefield. For a moment, any sound but a steady humming of the fire, dwindles, just to be replaced with savage Qunari shouts. Fenris grimaces in disappointment. The ram withstands the rampage of magic.

He takes a quick look back to verify if she has finished with casting. Still grasping the staff, she stands with the eyes tightly shut, a thin sheen of sweat covers her face, slowly gathering in beads on her forehead. Lost to the world, she continues to weave the spell. Perhaps there is yet hope, if she hasn't given up.

He turns back, and in a moment the flame roars, flashing so bright, that its image imprints on his eyelids, leaving him blind for a short while. The Qunari army emits a collective outcry of rage. When he gains the ability to see again, a broken and twisted metal frame is all that is left, of an intimidating example of Qunari engineering. Tiny molten streams run down the warped carcass. Despondent by this loss, the Qunari lines quickly withdraw toward their camp, chased by triumphant shouts of defenders. Men on the wall scream in excitement and hug each other. Smiling at their first big victory, Fenris turns around to offer her his small share of praise, and his breath gets caught in his throat.

Ashen and panting, she slips down the shaft to her knees. Frightened, he practically jumps off the wall to pick her up. Gathering her in his arms, he carries her to their rooms, ignoring any concerns from the soldiers and officers. Feeling her limbs quiver from exertion and overdose of lyrium, he places a soothing kiss on her forehead. She contentedly sighs, closing her eyes. Watching her almost instantly fall asleep, he feels pride swelling in his chest. His premonitions were wrong, and he was a fool.

She doesn't wake for nearly a day.

**—**

The next time Fenris climbs to the wall, he runs straight into Octavius and two of his men. After their encounter, the coward doesn't go to a privy without his guards, dogging his steps. But surprisingly, even in her absence, Octavius doesn't make any threatening moves. On the contrary, he evidently tries to be civil.

"I hope your Mistress is well, Elf... err, Fenris?"

Hiding the usual scowl, that visits his features every time he sees this human, Fenris lets the title slip. In a certain way, it is true. "Well enough. Anything unexpected on the side of the Qunari?"

"No, nothing at all. I don't know if we should be happy or worried." Octavius' eyes are glued to the distant camp as he speaks. The general scrutinizes the Qunari tents, as though trying to find the true meaning of this respite.

"The Qunari will not relent. It is a simple regrouping; they are waiting for something." Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Fenris takes a studying look in the same direction. There is nothing disturbing, besides regular activities of the warcamp. Nothing seems out of place and no new constructions are being built. It must be his nerves finally taking its toll.

The human scornfully grunts, his self-confidence reassured by this apathetic view. "Like what, more troops? If the siege continues at this rate, our reinforcements will arrive sooner, than they would sufficiently ruin the walls. After what's happened yesterday, I don't see any signs of a new siege engine."

And he thought that this man's stupidity can't go any lower. Of course there is no signs. It is a wonder that Tevinter is still able to put a fight against the Qunari, with generals like Octavius in command.

"They won't risk it again, no. They wait for something... different. If I were you, I would send people to scout the area."

However, his words of caution have no effect. Either previous humiliation or possibility of taking an advice from a former slave riles up Octavius, causing him to wave off the warning in a derisive manner. "I thought you serve her in a different capacity, than fortuneteller. The day when I listen to a vicious beast, will be the last day in my life."

"Then pray you won't have to, fool!" Turning on his heels, Fenris goes back to report to her of the situation. Further arguments with this human would only lead to murder, and that wasn't his goal, no matter how pleasant it could be.

For two days their sentinels catch the sight of a distant movements, but the core of the Qunari army stands still.


	30. Desperate measures

**—**

**Desperate measures**

* * *

The waking world greets him with a low sound of a distant blast. Its deep reverberation rings too similar to the tune of war, that accompanied him in his escape so long ago. Judging from the dim light coming out of the window, the morning has just began. Looks like the Qunari are too impatient in putting their latest acquisition to use.

"I know this sound." Jumping from the bed, Fenris grabs his trousers. His voice doesn't leave room for optimistic guesses.

She blinks a few times, chasing the sleep away, and despite the gloom of early discovery, he finds this helpless gesture endearing. Enough to stop for a second and cherish the fragile moment. Until her question shatters the magic.

"Uhm... What in blazes was that?"

Ah, that shortage of the human's anatomy comes into play once again. He explains, while tossing pieces of her armor on the bed. "What we were hoping to avoid. Heavy artillery."

Her eyes widen. "But how?"

He can see that she tries to deny the possibility of her plan failing, by aimlessly sorting out clothes and leather. Fastening his breastplate, he snipes, irritated by her goofing around. "You're asking the wrong question. What can we do, is the right one."

Wincing, she begins to dress, stifling yawns and dallying with every segment of armor she dons. Sighing, he fills a glass with water and holds it out to her, then starts to tighten all these straps himself. It's not the time for willfulness.

"Come."

They make haste to the city walls, reaching it at the same time, as a sleepy and sullen Octavius. Great, that's just what he needed to make this morning complete. Although, her drowsiness disappears in an instant, forcing him to admit that the buffoon is useful at least for something.

"There!" She points out at the sinister line of barrels, formed up not far from the shore. Even half-hidden by the morning mist, they look deadly.

"Cannons!" Cringing, exclaims Octavius.

The barrels lack wheels, laying on rigid carriages, built from the metal frames. There can be only one answer.

"It is ship cannons." Fenris voices his brief conclusions. "I don't know how, but the Qunari dismounted them from the dreadnoughts, and found a way to bring them through the reefs."

The human throws his hands up in frustration. "How is that possible? They are too heavy for boats."

"And too far. I can't reach them with spells."

Accurate estimation might be deceiving in this fog, but he wouldn't question her ability to calculate the distance, when it comes to magic. Facing this turn of events, he finds strange lack of emotions inside himself. The dream was short lived, they have been given a rude awakening, and now all that remains for him to do, is bring her to safety.

One of the cannons roars, sending a large iron ball in their direction. It falls not that far from the wall. Looking down at the torn ground, left on its path, he dispassionately states. "They are taking aim."

Just as he speaks, two more cannons fire simultaneously, and one of the balls hits the wall a dozen feet aside from them. The wall shakes, and they instinctively grab at each other, trying to retain the balance.

"This isn't over yet! Call for a meeting, Octavius!" Her scream breaks his detachment, replacing it with anxiety. What else does she have up her sleeve, another crazy plan?

Spotting his inquiring look, she ardently whispers - "Trust me", and they hurry down the wall.

**—**

"We can't just wait for a miracle! Their cannons will crumble these walls to dust. An excellent plan to make us sitting ducks, Senator!" Despite all the rage, Octavius seems to be scared shitless. And as any cornered animal, ready to bite. His wound-up state propels Fenris to move beside her.

"Our forces won't arrive for at least another week, General." Readily reminds one of Octavius' staunch lackeys.

"Perfect!" A baleful expression on the General's face doesn't look too inspiring, but one glance at Fenris' tense stance prevents him from committing any actions. He resorts to mockery, apparently in hopes of provoking an offensive reaction to have an excuse. "Some other clever plan to get us out of this hole, Mastermind?"

The corner of her mouth twitches up, when all eyes fix on her. "Actually, yes. We need to mount an onslaught."

"A... what?!" Octavius' shout ends up in a squeal. A fitting sound for a cowering rat. "Are you mad? We can't fight them on the open field! I won't die as cattle on your whim!"

Even if the human is about to gift them with an apoplexy, as his popped out eyes and red face suggests, his rant has merit. A direct attack would be slaughter, and Fenris is sure this isn't her intention. But instead of finishing with her idea, she snaps out.

"No, you will die in a Qunari labour camp. As their slave. They waste nothing, even trash like you!"

Whilst most of the officers seems rather bemused by such blunt animosity between both leaders, Octavius' guards takes a step in her direction. Though they eventually hesitate at the sight of Fenris' markings igniting and his hand's sliding up to the hilt of his sword, the whole situation looks far from being resolved. Seeing the effect of her careless words, she sighs and makes an effort to salvage the meeting. "We can still win. What I propose is not a suicide. You and your troops will provide a distraction, while me and the other mages will destroy the cannons."

Calling off his guards, the general nonetheless doesn't sound too persuaded. "And how is that any different?"

"You will command a retreat once you see them burn. Yes, people will die, but not all of us. Use the element of surprise, stretch their forces from range, draw them away from the cannons, so we can do our job. Hopefully the survivors can hold the town afterwards." She grins with a hint of despair in her eyes, laying open her last card. "This is the only real chance, Octavius, _your_ only chance. Death or glory awaits us, and I will go forward. Will you?"

Watching different emotions alternating on the general's face, Fenris wonders which fear would take over the coward. He already marked the first two targets in his mind, and no doubt she did the same. In the end the threat of a ripped out heart proves to be more imminent than a death from the Qunari. Octavius reluctantly nods, avoiding her gaze. "Very well then. Let's talk over the details."

**—**

The meeting and discussion on aspects of the raid stretches into evening. Gunfire increases as the day goes by, and even though the wall withstands for now, it won't take long until it cracks. But they don't need much time, attack is set to begin the next morning. Octavius claims that darkness will do more harm to his soldiers, than benefit them. No matter if it's true or not, Fenris is grateful for this small delay.

He shuts the door, cutting the sounds of war away. Coming close, he presses her to himself, just standing and breathing her scent in. Tomorrow one of them or both may die, and he wants to spend these remaining moments with her.

When he speaks, his voice is strained and thick with unspoken feelings. "Remember you promised to flee, if the wall falls?"

She raises her head, and all he can see in her eyes, is affection. "Yes, and it still stands. I also promised not to do anything stupid. And I didn't."

His stubborn woman, never admitting defeat. Running his fingers down her neck, he chuckles. "Liar."

"Like any other mage." Leaning into his palm, she dreamily smiles.

"No. Not like any." He whispers against her lips. "Just a liar."

He should be mad with her, putting herself in direct danger, but cannot. Instead, he will follow her, as he always did. But it's all for tomorrow, and tomorrow can still wait, a little. Until then...

This night, he worships her, he tells with his body what he cannot say with words. Everything, that she has become for him. How essential it is to be with her. How he would give anything for their future. She made him believe there is one. With her limbs, weaving around him, her fingers, creating the most pleasant sensations across his skin. With her voice, moaning and gasping in a fever of passion, whispering sweet nothings and pledges of devotion alike. The pain is forgotten in their moment of unity, and reaching his peak, Fenris confides to himself, that nothing could be worse, than the thought of living without her.

As if hearing him, she cries out, falling from the crest of her release.

"I love you!"

He thinks he's going to die.


	31. Na via lerno victoria

**—**

**Na via lerno victoria**

**Note:** There is an allusion to "Troy" 2004, I just couldn't resist. And I should have used Qunlat for Qunari roles, I know.

_Song: "Trip the darkness" by Lacuna Coil_

* * *

She fiddles with the ties of her armor, trying to stay composed, but the corner of her mouth tugs up every time she glances at him. After one of these half-smiles, Fenris feels he should talk with her about the oncoming incursion. Last night he certainly had other priorities in mind, but now this thought returns to haunt him.

"You..."

Just to be stopped by her hand, sealing his lips. "No, not now. You can say how reckless I am when we come back."

"_If_ we come back."

Not that he really wants to contemplate this outcome. He mostly grumbles just to say something, instead of standing with an open mouth, like a fool. She can sense, that his retort lacks fervor, and that knowledge results into a beaming grin. "Oh, we will! You'll see."

"Is that another promise?" He smirks, raising his eyebrow in curiosity. Her behavior today is unusual, even tone of her voice is different. Was this inspired mood a result of her declaration? Whatever that means, another ardent claim doesn't take long to follow.

"Hah, I'm still looking forward to running with you from the Templars."

Unable to hold back an amused laugh, he gestures her towards the door with a jesting bow.

**—**

The sky just now begins to brighten, and everything looks so eerily calm. Breathing in the fresh air, for a moment he can't believe how potentially lethal this day could end. A quick glance at the half-collapsed watchtower on their way to the walls, breaks this illusion of peace.

While they seek for any signs of alert in the Qunari camp, Octavius and his mongrels catch up to them.

"Enjoying the fruits of your conceit, Senator?" Instead of greeting, the general tilts his head towards unclear contours of the barrels with sour grimace. The hypocrisy of this fool in absolving himself of all responsibility, instantly sets Fenris seething.

He growls, pointing his finger at Octavius. "This is your fault we were taken by surprise! Where were the scouts?"

The human glares, taking a chest full of air for retort, but she nips their quarrel in the bud. "This is not the time to sort out the wrongs. Both of you, concentrate on the task ahead."

Octavius nervously laughs. "You know, despite the hazard you forced me in, I wish you success today. For the sake of every one of us."

The general's condition doesn't look too reassuring, causing Fenris to press his lips in concern. She must see it too, because she stares the human down, distinctly repeating his objective. "Just do your part, Octavius, and create as much chaos as you can. That's all I ask."

Wiping his hands on himself, Octavius loudly exhales and nods. "Well, then meet you in the square at the appointed time, Senator. And now, I must give final orders to my officers."

He leaves and in a few minutes they follow his suit, heading to the gathering point.

**—**

More and more legionnaires join the formations in the square before the gates. He waits on the side, while she instructs her mages. She's decided to take only two of them along, sending the rest with Octavius to add magic into the mess and help in battle. She says it's going to be enough, that two or twenty would make no difference if the ruse fails. Their strength not in numbers, but in consternation. She states many things, important or otherwise, but there is only one that he wants. Despite her claims, who knows - it might be his last chance. He needs to tell her, to let her know...

"Promise me you won't die." He asks when she comes to him.

Her eyes moisten at the sound of his hoarse voice. Smiling, she brushes her fingers over his cheek. "Only if you will."

Gladly. He never felt so thirsty for life as of now, feeling her touch. And not even the Archon can take it from him. He will make sure of it.

"Nothing will keep me from you!" He steps closer, taking her head with both hands, claiming her mouth, pouring all his restrained affection into this kiss. The world stops around them, and only her lips and her tongue remain.

When he finally draws back, both of them are out of breath.

**—**

Finishing checks are made and the last instructions are given. Everyone is armed and ready, when she comes before the soldiers for a final word.

"People of Tevinter! We all came from different places, but here we stand as the defenders of Alam. In the face of death it makes no difference who we were - a magister or a servant. Here, right now, we are all brothers and sisters. Make the Imperium proud! Make this day an eternity!" She turns, extending a hand forward. "You know what's beyond these gates? Immortality! Take it, it's yours!"

The troops roar, alight by her speech and thrill of close battle, and she signals to open the gates. Himself, he would follow her into the Void.

**—**

Their small group separates from the main forces almost instantly. They try to stay under cover of a coastal rocks and bushes, and dissipating morning fog helps them so far. As they come nearer to location of the cannons, sounds of distant shouts, the hiss of arrows and cracks of explosions reach his ears. He turns his head to find out, that their vanguard has already clashed with the Qunari. Occasional flashes of lightning and blazes of fire chase away the mists, reflecting on the glimmering steel. Soon it will lose its purity, painted in red.

This scenery of carnage is not substantial for the task ahead. They cannot influence its flow anymore, and he turns away. They stop at the predetermined position, so she could brief the mages.

"Remember, your only duty is to maintain the shield around me and Fenris. Stay behind the rocks and do not drop the shield, unless we call for it!"

"The first one, who will - dies." Reaching for his sword, vows Fenris with a grim scowl. Unnerved by his dour promise, the mages exchange glances and hurriedly nod several times in affirmation. Flexing her fingers, she takes a deep breath and looks at him. Everything they could say to each other, has already been said. There is no more to add. Almost.

"Only the living know victory."

Moments later, two barely visible globes envelop both him and Valeria. The thin membrane shimmers with silver, making her face ethereal. Popping the plug of first lyrium bottle, she tips the head of her staff in the direction of their targets. The initial words of incantation roll out from her lips.

Multiple wisps of smoke arise from the withered grass, a dozens of feet before them. Turning into blazing tongues, they form a line parallel to the row of barrels. The flames become bigger, growing into a raging wall of fire.

With his ears mildly dampened by the roar of the wild element, the first arrow to reach their location, almost misses his notice, hitting the ground several feet away. It looks like the distraction is more successful, than he thought. Only now have they been discovered. Preparing to meet a counterattack any minute, he gets a better grip on his sword.

Pressing her lips together, she waves the staff in a repelling motion and makes a step forward.

The fire moves with her.

On its way the fiery wall continues to grow. By the end of this passage, it has gaining nearly seven feet in height. Reaching the cannons, liquid fire clamors, dances and bends over them like a living creature. Though the sight is grand, its brightness and noise impedes his ability to avoid new arrows, or deflect the ones that target her. A few of them thump upon his shield, and against his will, Fenris silently thanks the mages behind.

His eye detects a movement on the right, and moment later a group of Qunari appear from behind one of the cliffs. Three footmen and two archers, a patrol? It makes no difference; they are an obstacle and a threat, that has to be removed. Stepping towards them, he throws her a quick glance. Enthralled by chanting, she doesn't seem to even acknowledge the Qunari presence. But that is why he's here, to protect her. It's so natural. Breaking into run, he instantly realizes, that his arcane defense is now a hindrance. It blurs his vision and limits his sword.

"Drop the shield!" He shouts to crouching mages, hoping that they would understand his command right. Only his shield: keep her safe. He cannot turn back to make sure, only pray. The membrane flickers and dissipates. As if in an answer, two arrows whizz inches from him, and his markings react with a flash of spectral light. He doesn't need magic to deal with this.

Using obtained momentum, Fenris all but knocks the first warrior off, staggering him back with the force of impact. Swinging his blade in a wide arch, he feels the familiar humming of lyrium, clearing his thoughts and pumping his markings with the power of the Fade. Making his whole body a living weapon.

Thrusting and parrying, he discerns a fragments of the Qunari shouts from a far. Seconds later the sounds of numerous explosions penetrate the remote roar of fire. The blasts mean that everything is fine, she does her job, and the cannons burn right now. His lips stretches into savage smirk. It is rather ironic for Qunari to die from their own gaatlok.

As he finishes off the last Qunari, a gurgling sound comes from behind. He whirls around to see an arrow, protruding from the throat of one of their mages. It seems that the fool has left the shelter of rocks, probably to get a better view of destruction. The impaled human reflexively grasps the shaft, staring at nothing with vacant look. He sinks to the ground, while the other mage stumbles backwards, gaping at his fellow's lifeless body in disbelief. The shield around her flutters once, twice, and suddenly Fenris can see her features crystal clear, as the second mage starts to run. Snarling in rage, Fenris dashes towards her, but he is so far away. He screams something, trying to warn her, draw her attention to the danger. She doesn't show signs of response, submerged in her spell. He feels underwater, struggling against the tides, watching as in a painfully slow, yet inevitable motion another arrow pierces her shoulder, and almost instantly two more hit her torso. Her sharp cry tears his soul asunder. And he is still too far. No shield, - a dull thought pounds in his head.

The flame dies.


	32. Promises

**—**

**Promises**

_Song: "Breathe into me" by Red_

* * *

If someone asked Fenris, how he ended up behind the same rock, that served as cover for the mages, with her in his arms - he couldn't tell them. He simply did not remember. There is almost no blood showing around the shafts, but her face blanches with every passing minute. Between frantically delving into his pockets for any sort of bandage or healing elixir and pleading with her to heal, Fenris curses to himself. He doesn't dare extract the arrows, afraid of causing excessive bleeding. She was never a healer, so his pleas have no effect, and from the position and visible length of the shafts, her wounds must be severe. Still, a potion could provide some respite, until he finds more appropriate help, until...

"Hey," She whispers. "Don't cry."

Even panting, she attempts to smile, to assure him that it is nothing, but a few scratches. When, in fact, all she does, is worsen her state.

"Stop talking." He chokes out, not recognizing his own voice. "You're not helping anyone."

"Guess I lied, like any mage." Ignoring his words, she emits a forced laugh, which shortly turns into an agonizing grunt. She never listens when it matters, and his fingers seems too rigid to find that damn potion.

"No. Not like any."

Slowly, her features become blurred, and he blinks to clear his vision. A waterdrop falls on her cheek, making its way down. Swallowing hard, he leans forward to brush it off her skin with his lips. "And you didn't."

Her eyes sadden and the corner of her mouth stretches into a sardonic grimace, speaking louder than words. Cringing, he curses again, and in this moment his fingers find a familiar shape of an elixir. Finally! - he loudly puffs in relief. Swiftly pulling it out, he uncorks it with his teeth.

"Here, drink it." Fenris helps her to empty the bottle, then settles her head back in the juncture of his forearm. Pressing their foreheads together to pass some of his conviction to her, he firmly states, before picking her up and raising to his feet. "Trust in me. We _will _reach the city!"

In the back of his mind he remembers, that the battle continues somewhere close, and he must be careful, if they want to make it back alive. But her condition and the thought of being sandwiched between clashing armies, make him speed his steps, just short of running. He treads the same route they headed before, which proved the best to stay out of notice. It becomes easier to dodge the stray arrows whizzing around, once he gets to an outcropping of boulders halfway to the city. He can already distinguish the massive iron rivets of the gates ahead. Thankfully, as they draw further away from the heat of battle, none of the Qun deem them worthy of pursuing. However, frustration mounts as he passes only Tevinter soldiers, no mages. It seems that they'll have to get to the town and hope, that at least some of the casters survived bloodshed, and one of them would be a healer. So many ifs and maybes, with her life at stake.

Shifting his sight between the path in front of him and her face, he sees that the potion is working. Her breathing has evened out, and skin lost its deathly pallor, though mostly due to the elixir diminishing pain. For now, lulled by his steady pace, she floats on the brink of unconsciousness.

In one of her lucid moments she wistfully mutters. "You know... I always thought I could drown in your eyes."

These words tie his heart in a tight knot. Looking down at her, he cannot imagine what to say, everything feels insufficient in the face of such piercing longing, that rings in her voice. Then, in a moment it doesn't matter, as she drifts away once more.

They stumble through the piles of upturned earth, torn by the fire and iron. The anesthetic effect wears thin far too quickly, and she stirs, biting down a groan. He presses on, outstripping retreating Tevinters, who puts a great effort in holding an array on their way back. Taking a lungful of air, he shouts to open the gates, praying that the guards would recognize them and abide his command. Raising her head at the sound of his voice, she weakly smiles.

"I was a fool to doubt you."

Planting light kiss on her lips, he chuckles. "Yes, you were."

Just as he says it, a screech of the opening bars reaches his ears. The best music he can wish for the moment.

**—**

Escorted inside by the soldiers, who were left to operate the gates, he doesn't listen to their agitated questions. He can't discern a word in the sight of a lone figure, slumped near the watchtower, that instantly attracts his eye. Such familiar clothes, so distinct frame. A coward, the very one that left them to die. And - a mage.

Carefully placing her on the ground with her back leaned against the wall, he manages to utter through clenched teeth. "Wait for me."

The mage notices him, when it's already too late. Facing a glowing tempest, contained of lyrium veins, muscles and fury that is Fenris, he shrieks in panic. "Please, don't kill me!"

"Do you see her, mage?" Growls Fenris in the traitor's ear, feeling every bulge of the heart in his hand. Sobbing uncontrollably from blind terror, the mage doesn't seem to understand his words. Flexing his fingers, a motion that evokes a new scream, he repeats the question, slightly surprised by his own patience. "I said - do you see her?"

"Yes, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" A flood of incoherent pleas pours out of the mage's lips. Bringing his face flush to the ear of his victim, Fenris smells a mixture of fear, sweat and piss. A defining stench.

"You heal her, or die. And trust me - if you fail, the pain you feel now, will be a caress. Am I clear?"

The coward hysterically nods. Tightly gripping his neck with another hand, Fenris forces him to make a step towards her. Soldiers watch in silence, as he drags the stumbling mage through the square. He's not sure what she heard of that exchange, but when they come close, she snickers.

"This one can barely tend bruises, Fenris."

Shaking the mage like a rag, he fiercely glares. "This one shall become the best healer in Thedas, if he wants to live."

Pressing her hands to the wounds to alleviate the spasm, brought on by the laughter, she stares at him in adoration; an emotion that weirdly mingles with the escalating pain, underlined by the wrinkles crossing her forehead.

"Usually it doesn't work that way, but if anything - your ability to persuade surpasses even mine."


End file.
